


Yesterday, Today

by ackermom



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Break Up, Canon Compliant up to 4.7, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Multimedia, Post-Break Up, Sexual Content, Social Media, Therapy, Unhealthy Relationships, because i forgot what year this is set in, with an anachronous appearance by gritty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-06 12:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16387391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackermom/pseuds/ackermom
Summary: Jack and Bitty break up. Bitty moves on. Jack looks back.





	Yesterday, Today

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 2018 omgcp big bang. many thanks to my visual accomplice, [blackhaireddemon](http://blackhaireddemon.tumblr.com/), who created the amazing woodcut illustrations contained within. thanks to my beta, who suffered through the first draft with me. thanks to my last job, for giving me little work, constant computer access, and no supervision. most of this fic was written there. 
> 
> please heed the tags and warnings before reading this fic. please know, also, that there are many visual elements embedded within the text (all accompanied by alt text, so they should be fine for a screenreader). let me know if anything is broken.
> 
> and enjoy.

 

 

 

 

* * *

**Now**

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

"Jack, your impact as the first out NHL player in an openly same-sex relationship has been significant for fans and teams alike. Do you care to comment on the rumors that you've separated from your partner, Eric Bittle?"  


He can barely see the crowd of reporters from beneath his baseball cap, but he hears the low voices that mumble through the room when the question is asked. The lights are shining on him, the cameras focused on him; they're waiting for his response. He has to say something.

Jack glances around. "Uh."

The crowd swells with silence.

"It's true," he says finally. "Eric and I have split up."

"Jack, how do you think this split will affect your public image?"

"What was the cause of the breakup, Jack? Was it too much pressure to be hockey's only out gay couple?"

"Are you seeing anyone new, Jack?"

"No more questions," someone announces, and he's shuffled backstage into the darkness, his cap still tugged down on his face. 

"What the hell was that?" Marty grumbles beside him. 

Jack glances up to find them huddled together behind the stage, cornering Georgia, whose clipped nails click against the screen of her phone as she types urgently.   


"It's like they lose their minds when Jack gets up there," Thirdy says, crossing his arms. "Can't we stick to hockey for once?"

"This is hockey," Georgia says. 

She looks up and catches Jack's eye.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but you and Eric made waves-"

"It's fine," Jack says. "We weren't trying to hide anything."

He stood here last year, thinking the same thing.

 

 

 

 

#### Love is Dead: Jack Zimmermann and Eric Bittle Have Officially Broken Up 

_Jenny Vang, BuzzFeed News Reporter_   

> Well, kids, we had a good run.
> 
> But love is cancelled, because today our fan-favorite, rainbow-wearing, Stanley-cup-winning, hot-as-hell NHL player Jack Zimmermann confirmed that he has called it quits with boyfriend Eric Bittle, whom he infamously made out with on the ice after winning last year's Stanley Cup. RIP Bittlemann. 

  **puckslut**  
could buzzfeed be any more insensitive thanks

  **badbobsballs**  
this article makes it sound like jenny vang lost a lot of money betting on bittlemann's wedding date

  **imonlyhereforhockey**  
theyre hockeys first out couple and its kind of a big deal so i think were aloud to be sad about their relationship being over. can you let people express their feelings for once?? theyre the reason i got into hockey is because they showed me that anyone can play and sports are changing

  **puckslut**  
*allowed, lmao get your shit together before you come at me

  **notapuckbunny**  
ok, like i agree that it really sucks that they broke up, and i know that a lot of people looked up to them, but they're not spokespeople for us or our feelings. we have this weird expectation that celebrities should uphold all of our values and fight for all of our causes. and i think there's something to be said about using a privileged platform to raise awareness, but they're also just people and this has to be hard for them. especially given jack's history, i can't imagine what he's going through right now. he doesn't need internet fangirls cross examining his life like this. not again. 

  **badbobsballs**  
excuse you, i'm an internet fanboy

  **hockeyybae**  
maybe they read all the terrible rpf that yall wrote about them and realized they didnt want to indulge your gross fantasies anymore

  **kissmyace**  
maybe eric bittle finally read the jack/parse nsfw that i sent him on twitter and realized he could no longer stand in the way of true love

  **checkmedaddy**  
this means we're never gonna get the eric/jack/kent porno that we deserve RIP

  **puckslut**  
y'all are fucking nasty

  **greatovi8**  
oh my god, i hate this website. it's a personal relationship and everyone needs to take a step back. even you "given jack's history" like lmao you don't know him! none of us do. leave him alone.

  **zimmermom**  
Let me step in and add my two cents here, because I have a lot to say about this relationship, its impact on professional sports, and the ongoing coverage of its demise. 

I'll keep this brief:

Many of us looked up to Jack and Eric for putting themselves in the spotlight at huge risk to their personal and professional lives. It took a lot of courage for them to do what they did, not only to go public with their relationship, but to do so in such a meaningful, yet simple, way. Kissing at the Stanley Cup was a big deal for them, even though it was normal and expected of every heterosexual relationship there. I think we can all agree that they deserve a big round of kudos for that bravery.

I think you are completely justified in feeling upset about their break-up. It's normal to get invested in celebrity relationship, and I think especially so for Bittlemann, as they were the only out couple in hockey. If you happened to be a gay hockey fan like me (like many of us), then there was something irresistible about rooting for them. I know that I'm pretty devastated by this turn of events, especially because it feels like this relationship probably didn't end well, given the little information we have so far. 

That being said, there is a line to be drawn here. Jack Zimmermann and Eric Bittle are real people with real lives. They're being affected by this in real time, and while I'm sure that they are aware of the impact of their relationship in the hockey world, it should go without saying that we need to give them the same privacy and respect we would allow our friends and family if they were going through something similar. 

TL;DR it's okay to be sad but let's respect their space. It looks like they've already gotten some pretty invasive and entitled tweets, so let's refrain from contributing to that kind of fandom environment. My inbox is always open if anyone needs to talk.

Love, your hockey fandom mom 

  **mashkovisawesome**  
Well said! Zimmermom is right as always. Let's grieve from a distance guys.

  **badbobsballs**  
hey "mom" can you shut the fuck up

  **mashkovisawesome**  
Hey, there's no need to be rude

  **badbobsballs**  
glorifying celebrities relationship isnt a phase mom, its who i am!!!!

  **puckslut**  
LMAO go off

 

  **bow down**  @queen_tea    
oh my god no https://buzzfeed.com/jennyvang/love-is-dead-zimmermann-breakup?utm_term.djfl53#Olq.42f9

  **nadia**  @nadia_glass    
@queen_teaWHAT NO tell me its fake 

  **bow down**  queen_tea    
@nadia_glasssorry but its real. i'm heartbroken

  **nadia**  nadia_glass    
@queen_teai was rooting for them so hard 

  **bow down**  queen_tea    
@nadia_glasswe were all rooting for them. but i guess there's a lesson in here about putting celebrity relationships on a pedestal...

  **nadia**  nadia_glass    
@queen_teai know you're right ugh. but i'm still sad :(

 

  **it's sarah**  @sunflower.sarah    
hey @omgcheckplease sorry to hear the news. hope you're doing okay!

 

  **sweet ana**  @anabanana    
@omgcheckplease we were vlog fans first so if you need us to beat anyone up, let us know

  **let's go boys**  @falcs_forever    
@anabanana ur gonna beat up an nhl player, really ana

  **sweet ana**  @anabanana    
@falcs_foreveri have a frying pan and i'm not afraid to use it

 

  **Kent Parson**  @kentparsonaces    
Home to LV for game six. Let's do this. 

  **Jenny Vang**  @jenny.vang    
Hey @kentparsonaces, Jenny from BuzzFeed again! Do you have anything to say about Jack Zimmermann and Eric Bittle's recent break-up?

 

 

 

 

* * *

  **Then**

* * *

 

 

 

  

Jack wakes in the morning and remembers the kiss. 

Bittle is tucked beside him, curled into the crook of Jack's arm like he was made to fit there. He leans across Jack, fumbling for something on the nightstand with a bleary gaze. For a few moments, Jack does nothing but watch him, his heart swelling with complete and utter love. 

Bitty sits back, a phone in his hand, and their gazes meet. 

"Hi," Bitty whispers, smiling through a yawn. 

"Good morning," Jack murmurs. He shifts in bed, the sheets slipping between their bodies, and curls his arm tighter around Bittle's waist. "Is that my alarm?"

Bitty hums in response. He silences the alarm, then slips down into Jack's arms, chin popped up on Jack's chest, and presses their hips together.

"Oh, good morning," he murmurs, smiling. "Somebody woke up early." 

"I was dreaming about you," Jack says. He runs a hand through Bittle's golden hair. "Were you having the same dream?"

Bitty curls up against his shoulder, one leg hooked over Jack's waist. "I don't think so. Tell me about it."

Jack has one hand on his back, slipping up under his shirt. "Can I show you instead?" 

They make love beneath the sheets, sunlight streaming across the team in thick yellow stripes, their names humming on each other's lips. Jack comes first, their bodies pressed together; he squeezes his hands on Bitty's shoulders and swears. Then he sets Bitty on the bed and goes down on him until they're both bled dry. 

"I love you," Bitty whispers from the pillows. 

Jack trails kisses up his stomach. "I love you, too." 

Bittle holds out an arm and Jack follows it, coming to lie down next to him with his head on Bittle's shoulder. Bitty hugs him close; then after a moment, he sighs.

"We should go," Jack murmurs. 

"I don't want to."

"They're waiting for us."

"They can wait," Bittle grumbles. He settles a cheek against Jack's forehead. "Sorry."

"I know," Jack sighs. "I know."

The press conference is brief. Jack arrives with freshly showered hair, Bittle tugging along behind him. The PR team rolls out a binder of possible outcomes, scenarios, and contingency plans. They have six official statements prepared, and Jack chooses the shortest one to be published afterwards. 

"I'm not trying to hide anything," he tells Georgia. "I just wanted to kiss my boyfriend."

Georgia has deep bags under her eyes, and he knows that she's annoyed; they'll talk later. For now, she smiles. 

"All you need to do is talk about hockey," she says. "But if you have something you want to say-"

"I think this'll be a normal presser," Jack says. 

The crowd vibrates as they take their seats. The questions come flying between the flashing lights, and by the time the performance is over, Jack is ready to go back to bed. 

He is aware, vaguely, distantly, that his hands are shaking as he leaves the stage, but his feet move steadily, with rhythm, and he feels good. He feels happy. His parents are waiting outside the press room, sharing a proud smile, and there is Bittle, wearing a furrowed brow. 

"Oh, honey," Bitty sniffles into his shoulder. "Jack, sweetheart, you did great."

"You're crying," Jack says. 

Bittle wipes his tears. "I didn't mean to. I was just thinking..."

Jack looks at him. 

"Bits," he says. "Have you talked to your parents?" 

 

 

 

 

  **puckslut**  
does jack zimmermann is gay

  **badbobsballs**  
pretty good summary of that press conference tbh

  **hockeyybae**  
he's dated women so i think he's bi. check yourself

  **badbobsballs**  
he didn't use a specific term when talking about his sexuality, so i'm guessing that either a) he's gay or b) it doesn't matter that much to him

  **puckslut**  
what matters is that the aces can fucking eat it because their blatant homophobic slurs on the ice are no longer going to fly. like the nhl has already come out (no pun intended) and put their support behind zimmermann. this is pretty big. i think this is actually going to make a difference.

  **checkmedaddy**  
ok but speaking of the aces

  **notapuckbunny**  
also his boyfriend is an ncaa captain? have we talked about that? that blonde cutie is not only a hockey player but the captain of his team??? i swear they're too cute together

  **checkmedaddy**  
do i have to do everything myself around here

  **kissmyace**  
wait what about the aces

  **checkmedaddy**  
YOU GUYS ARE SLEEPING ON KENT PARSON

  **kissmyace**  
oh my god. not to be creepy but they were totally fucking back in the day

  **greatovi8**  
zimmermann and parson were like 17, okay, can we not be gross and objectify teen boys now? thanks

  **checkmedaddy**  
sorry, didn't know i was in the presence of the purity police

  **puckslut**  
this was supposed to be a shit post

 

 

 

 

"You're gonna be okay here alone?" Jack asks again. 

Bitty hips checks him as he passes, an overflowing cardboard box heaved against his chest. "Sweetheart, for the last time! I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me."

Someone needs to worry about you, Jack thinks.

He stands near the door with his hands in his pockets and watches Bittle shuffle boxes and bags around his room, dropping things onto the floor and kicking things under the bed. His room is unchanged from the last time Jack was here, helping him pack for the summer. Somehow, these walls feel different now: brighter, but shorter. 

"You've never lived alone," Jack says. "I just want to make sure that you'll be alright."  

Bittle pauses at his nightstand, his back to Jack. He is still for a moment; then he takes a swift breath and produces Jack's tiny hockey figurine from his pocket and places it carefully next to the lamp.

"I'll be fine," Bitty insists, turning around. "It's only for a few weeks, before the rest of the boys get back. Lord, I missed them this summer."

"You could just stay with me," Jack says, stepping forward.

Bitty purses his lips. "Honey, I said..."

"You don't have to leave just because I'm back at training," Jack says. 

"I know," Bitty says softly. He crosses towards Jack, then reaches up and wraps his arms around Jack's neck, bringing them close. "But it's been a long summer and I need some alone time. Plus, I need to start conditioning."

He pokes Jack's nose. 

"You let me get out of shape, Mr. Zimmermann."

Jack smiles. "You're too cute to wake up for conditioning." 

"Evidently that didn't apply to checking practice!" Bitty laughs, shoving a hand against Jack's chest.

Jack catches him, arms sneaking around Bittle's waist, and he wrestles him in close. 

"It doesn't apply to sex either," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Bittle bites his lip, but it doesn't hide his grin. "I don't care what any of the magazines say. You're not sexy at all."

Jack places his hands firmly on Bittle's ass. "How about now?"

Bittle swats at him. "I'm supposed to be unpacking!"

"I'm not going to see you for a long time."

"It's just a few weeks!"

He hums when Jack bends to kiss his neck. 

"Oh, honey," Bitty sighs, running a hand up through Jack's hair. "Okay, one last time, and then you have to leave, or Lord knows I'll never get anything done."

"What do you want?" Jack murmurs into his ear.

Bitty wriggles in his arms, smirking. "Oh, honey. Anything, as long as it's you." 

 

 

 

 

  **Eric Bittle**  @omgcheckplease    
Hey everyone! Just a heads up that this account is going to be a little less active from now on. Thanks for understanding, y'all!  

  **it's sarah**  @sunflower.sarah    
@omgcheckplease noooo i'll miss your live tweeting of hockey shenanigans!

  **Eric Bittle**  @omgcheckplease   
@sunflower.sarah Haha, sorry, but between hockey, thesis, and dating an NHL player, not sure I'll have time! ;)

 

  **bow down**  @queen_tea    
@nadia.glass apparently they've made him delete a bunch of stuff already

  **nadia** @nadia.glass    
@queen_tea i may be single but at least i have full control of my own damn twitter account. do they treat WAGs like this? :/

  **bow down** @queen_tea    
@nadia.glass idk but i guess that's the price you pay for some sweet hockey ass

 

 

 

 

Season training starts the day after he drops Bittle off at school, and the Falconers have never been more in sync. 

Their drills are coordinated, their movements rhythmic, and when they leave the ice at the end of the first day, they feel unstoppable. They are champions now, and they're going to make sure the world never forgets it. 

Jack feels good. He knows that he's not finished bearing stares and questions. The NHL may be standing behind him now, but there are fans and commentators and critics who would love to give Zimmermann Jr. a piece of their minds, and that's not even counting other teams. PR has told him to be brace for the worst at the beginning of the season, but hopefully once hockey returns for good, people will lose interest. 

He feels good. He has supporters. He has Tater, who would cheerfully destroy anyone who crosses him. He has Georgia, who has been in his corner since the beginning. He has Marty and Thirdy, who have made it their personal missions to look out for him. He has his parents, and he has Bittle. 

He feels good, even at the end of the first week. It's been a hard week for everyone. They're working well together, but they're being pushing to their limits, breaking themselves over the ice to build a better team. When they flood the locker room that afternoon, itching to escape the rink and get in one last summer day before the preseason, they're feeling free.

Some of them, a little too free.

Josef smacks Coop with a towel on his way into the shower. 

"Look at that ass," he hollers, dancing around Coop's smacks of retaliation. "You ever let your girlfriend play with that thing?"

"Shut up, old man," Coop says, finally landing a hit with his towel. "We're not all faggots around here."

"Hey," Tater snaps. 

The locker room freezes. 

"What we say about language?" Tater asks.

"What?" Coop exclaims. "Did I hit a nerve, Tater?"

"We not use that language in here," Tater says. "We had whole seminar about it!"

"Jesus, it's just a word," Coop mutters. "I'm not gonna be PC policed in my own damn locker room."

"Is bad word. Referees promise to eject if they hear hate speech on ice-"

"Oh, come on, Tater, you know that's bullshit, the refs don't give a shit. Look, Jack's not even offended by it, alright?"

Jack sits at his still and tries not to make eye contact with anyone. The A is brazen on his chest, burning against him. He should say something. He's supposed to say something. He's the reason for all of this anyways. He should-

He hears himself mutter, "It's fine, Tater."

"Fine? You hearing this, Zimmboni?"

"Just leave it," Jack says. "It's not a big deal."

Tater simmers, but the rest of the locker room diffuses. Coop mutters something else before stalking off to the showers, throwing his jersey against the wall. A low murmur of conversation picks back up, and Jack hears laughter from the other side of the room.

He skips the shower and heads out. Thirdy corners him in the hallway.

"Jack," he says.

Jack tries to breathe. "Hey, Thirdy."

"Hey yourself," Thirdy says. He puts his foot down as Jack tries to sidestep him. "Hey, remember what happened in the locker room after practice today?"

"It was five minutes ago," Jack says. "Look, I'm in a hurry-"

"No, you're not," Thirdy says.

Jack stops. 

"They're not gonna change overnight," Thirdy says. "I hate to admit it, but some of these guys have talked that way their whole lives. It's gonna take time."

"I know."

"But you gotta help them get there."

Jack stares at him. "I can't..."

"You can't let them get away with it," Thirdy says. "If you keep saying it's fine, then everyone's gonna think that it's okay and they're gonna walk all over you."

"It's not a big deal," Jack says. "I don't want to step on anyone's toes." 

"Calling out slurs is not stepping on toes," Thirdy says. "It's productive and it helps all of us."

Jack rubs his forehead. "It's really not a big deal."

"Would you let someone talk like that to Eric?"

He takes a breath. "No."

"Then you shouldn't let them talk like that to you."

"He wasn't talking about-"

"Jack, you're not stupid," Thirdy says, his voice softening. "I know you're adjusting to your new reality by trying to keep your head down, but you can't pretend to be oblivious about things like this. That comment was targeted."

Jack hesitates. When he looks up, he finally meets Thirdy's eyes. 

"I didn't ask to be a spokesperson," he says quietly.

"I get it, Jack."

"I don't think-"

"You know a lot of black kids from Arkansas who play ice hockey?"

Jack blinks. "No."

"Right," Thirdy sighs. "So I get it. I've dealt with my fair share of bullshit. I know how it feels to be a token."

He levels his gaze at Jack. 

"But that's the card you've dealt yourself," he says. "You've gotta do the best you can with it."

PR has been begging him to collaborate with You Can Play. Jack's been hesitant to accept, on the grounds that his personal life doesn't affect his professional life (on the grounds that Bitty has ten missed calls from his mother and none from his father). 

But he's been lucky, considering everything. He has Tater and Marty and Thirdy and Georgia. He has the right people standing behind him, even if he doesn't have everyone. He could have been dealt a much worse hand. He could be standing alone.

He thinks about the Aces.

"Okay," Jack says, rubbing his forehead. "You're right. I- I'll work on it."

Thirdy claps him on the shoulder. "You can start by showering here again."

"Some of the guys think-"

"I know, Jack, but you fucking stink. And it's just a shower. If anyone says anything, I'm sure Tater would be happy to punch them out for you." 

 

 

 

 

One, two. Practice gets harder, but the high of the ice never lets them down. Jack's name finds it way to Deadspin for the third week in a row. Three. Bitty cancels their Skype call to rush to a meeting with his advisor, and they never reschedule. 

Four. Jack's phone is ringing when he wakes up from a post-practice nap. 

"What are you doing?" Lardo asks without preface.

Jack blinks, rubbing his forehead, the phone sandwiched between his ear and the pillow as he remembers the beaten bruises across his body. 

"Hi, Lardo."

"Jack."

"What?"

"You have to talk to him," Lardo says.

Jack sits up. "What?"

"Man, I know you're way in love with him and you've been busy since the preseason started, so maybe you just haven't had time to notice behind your rose-colored glasses. But Bittle's busy as hell and there's all the stuff with his parents and people are on campus all the time trying to get his picture, and Jack, you need to talk to him."

Jack pulls the phone away from his ear to check his call history. Five. He thought he'd been checking in, but his last five calls with Bittle were each less than a minute. Each another time he was about to go to practice, or about to go to sleep, or about to get in the shower. 

"Sorry," he sighs when he gets back on the phone. "I'll call him."

"I know you worry about him," Lardo says. "We all do."

"...I know. Did he ask you to call me?"

"No, he called me crying because he's so stressed out and didn't feel like he could talk to you.

Jack stumbles over that. "What?" 

"Your silence is smothering him. You're his partner, Jack, and he really needs you. He's having a hard time. You know that."

Jack did know that, but when he left Bittle at the Haus in August, he chose not to say anything about how much Bittle cried when Jack's car pulled away. He wrote it off as senior stress, or end of summer sadness, just something that he would get over once his tears dried. It wasn't any of those things; it was all of them, and he didn't even notice.

He texts Bitty before making dinner, and when he's finished, he has a slew of new messages.

**Text from Jack <3**  
Hey bud. Sorry if you've been stressed lately. Let me know what you need.   
Love you.

**Text from Bitty**   
????  
did someone say something to you  
jack answer me  
did you talk to lardo  
why do you always text me right before you do something  
don't start a conversation if you're not going to finish it  
call me

Jack's soft "hey, bud," is short-lived.

"What was that text about?" Bittle exclaims over the phone.

Jack tries again.

"Hi, bud," he says as he sets a pan in the sink. 

"Hey," Bittle says. "Stop avoiding the question."

"I'm just trying to say hi."

"I asked you a question, Jack."

Jack meanders into the living room, a bowl in one hand. 

"I'm sorry if I haven't been attentive lately," Jack says as he sits down. "I know we haven't talked in a while, and I'm sorry that-"

"Did Lardo say something to you?"

He doesn't know if he should answer that.

Jack glances down at his food. "She called me."

He hears Bitty huff, and Jack imagines him angry: throwing down his pen and getting up to pace across the room.

"What did she say?"

"She thought you seemed stressed," Jack offers, declining to mention the bit about crying.

"Did she tell you that I called her in the middle of a breakdown?"

She didn't use that word.

"Yeah," Jack says. "Are you okay?"

"I told her not to call you," Bittle grumbles.

"Are you mad that your friends are checking up on you?"

"That's not checking up on me, Jack," Bittle exclaims. "That's going behind my back and telling my boyfriend something that I didn't want him to hear from someone else."

Jack leans back on the couch, waiting it out. Bittle sighs.

"I was going to talk to you," Bittle says eventually. "I know you're busy, sweetheart, and I know I've cancelled a few of our calls too. I was just trying to find the right time to reach out. I didn't want you to feel bad." 

He pauses. "Maybe we should schedule calls again. I feel bad when we can't talk."

"Now you know how I feel when I get off a plane and find twenty unread messages from you," Jack says. He thinks that he can hear Bittle smiling. 

"Aw, honey. Is that also how it feels when you text me right before you start doing something else?"

"Sorry. I was making dinner."

"It's fine," Bittle says. "I'd rather you not answer me for a few minutes than burn your hand or something."

"Chirp, chirp," Jack says. He waits a moment, then asks, "Are you free to visit soon?"

"Soon?" Bittle echoes.

"I mean, whenever you're free. I don't want you to get overwhelmed."

"I don't know, Jack. I'll look, but I'm really busy, sweetheart. I don't know why I signed up for three intensive seminars, plus my thesis proposal. And then there's hockey too. Honey, why didn't you tell me that being captain is so hard?"

"Now you know why I was such an ass all the time."

"Did you just chirp yourself?"

Jack stretches out on the couch. "I deserve it, at least a little bit. You can still drop a class if you need to, right?" 

Bittle sighs. Jack has the impression that he's sprawled out on his bed, surrounded by notebooks and textbooks, his work neglected while his laptop is open to Pinterest.

"I can," Bitty says. "I mean, I could, but I'd have to sign up for something else. I need full credits every semester to graduate on time."

Graduation: the subject has barely been breached between them, and Jack knows that it makes Bittle anxious. He won't ask now; he'll wait until Bittle comes up and they can mutter about it in bed together.

"You can do it, bud," Jack says. "Just don't procrastinate."

"You know I can't do that."

"Are you procrastinating right now?"

"...maybe."

"Eric." 

"Eric?" Bittle exclaims, laughing. "Oh lord, you can't start calling me that now." 

He hums, and Jack smiles. 

"I'm sorry for being a handful, sweetpea," Bittle says after a moment. "Thanks for checking up on me."

"I'll try to do it more often. How's a good morning text sound?"

"Aw, Jack. You're such a sweet boy."

"Love you, bud."

"Love you too, honey." 

 

 

 

 

**Text from Bitty**  
i don't think i can make it down this month :(  
sorry, things are just so busy

**Text from Jack <3**  
That's fine bud  
Let me know if you can come to any games

**Text from Bitty**  
think you can make it up for halloween?

**Text from Jack <3**  
Probably not

**Text from Bitty**  
:(

**Text from Jack <3**  
We're away that weekend

**Text from Bitty**  
i miss u

**Text from Jack <3**  
Miss you too   
Sweetpea

**Text from Bitty**  
don't get saucy with me, young man

**Text from Jack <3**  
haha

**Text from Bitty**  
i'll look at my schedule for october and let you know  
<3 <3 <3

**Text from Jack <3**  
<3

 

 

 

 

The season opens with two Falcs wins, and praise is higher than ever.

So is criticism. 

The Falconers flood the ice at Nashville to an explosive show of lights and music, stirring up icy dust beneath their skates as they circle the rink during warm-ups. Jack is feeling good after their last two games. They came out strong, and their energy is still high from last season's championship wins. But he's cautious about keeping up their winning streak; they play better on home turf, and the crowd tonight is particularly excitable.

He sees on rainbow flag in the crowd. He sees one large, vitriolic sign.

He wishes he hadn't seen either. 

One of the Predators skates close to the center line and nods at him. 

"Hey, Zimmermann," he shouts as he passes. "Suck any cocks today?"

Jack ignores him. He counts his breaths and focuses on his movements across the ice. He feels good, but there's tension building in his knees. He can't let himself get distracted. These are just words, and they will pass. He remembers Bittle's affirmations, Thirdy's encouragement, his father's legacy. It doesn't matter what they think of him now. His game will prove what he's worth.

"Which one of 'em takes it up the ass?" one of the Preds says, elbowing his teammate. "Eh, you think Zimmermann ever lets that little faggot go to town on him?"

There's a low laugh between them.

"Jesus, it it even fair to call Zimmermann gay if he's giving it to that fucking fairy? I mean, there's a line, isn't there, and some of those faggots just fucking cross it-"

Jack throws the first punch. 

It's not a fair fight. He swerves across their line and when he throws fists, there are ten bodies ahead to meet him, none behind to defend him. He gets slammed onto the ice and comes up with a bloody nose.

"Jack, what the hell?" he hears Marty shout as his teammates drag him to his feet. "The game hasn't even fucking started, man-"

"He said something about Bittle," Jack says.

"I don't give a damn what he said-"

The referees make their call, and the stadium descends into cheers.

"You're throwing me out?" Jack yells, wringing out of Thirdy's grasp. 

He tears his helmet off and smashes it onto the ice. Blood drips onto his lips. 

"You're gonna let him say shit like that?" Jack shouts. "What happened to that league bullshit about fairness and equality? What the fuck was that about?"

It's Tater who throws him off the ice.

"Cool down, Zimmboni," he says before he skates away. He's not smiling.

Jack's hands are shaking. The stadium is fired up with jeers from the crowd, and his teammates stare at him from the bench, whispering under their breath.

His hands are shaking. His throat clenches.

He strips off his gloves, stumbling backwards on his skates, and he makes it halfway down to the locker room before he collapses to his knees, his palms scraping across the floor. When the trainer finds him, Jack is curled into a ball, his forehead against the cold floor, his shoulders heaving, hands shaking, and it takes three people to drag him to his feet.

"I got ejected from the game," Jack tells Bitty later.

He lies on his bed in the dark, the phone pressed against his ear. His shoes sit abandoned near the hotel room door, and he feels fragile beneath the thick blanket that covers his body. He doesn't know where his roommate is. He's not shaking anymore, but there's a winding feeling in his stomach that makes him want to throw up.

"I know, we were all watching," Bitty exclaims over the phone, and that makes Jack feel worse. "What was that, sweetheart?"

"I don't know," Jack says miserably.

"Jack, that didn't come out of nowhere. I mean, good lord, you had my heart in my throat. I'm still shaken up. What happened, honey?"

Jack doesn't answer. Bitty guesses.

"Did he say something to you?"

"...yeah, but it wasn't-"

"I thought the refs were supposed to be tougher about slurs and stuff. We all saw that guy in the stands."

"He didn't say anything about me," Jack says. "He did, but I ignored that."

"Then what, Jack? You never fight like that, not even during games."

"He insulted you," Jack says.

He hears Bitty take a breath.

"What?"

"He called you a faggot."

"Oh. Jack. That's nothing I haven't heard before."

"That doesn't mean it's okay for him to say it," Jack exclaims. He curls onto his side, his knees tucked up to his stomach.

"It's not okay for you to attack him, either."

"I'm not going to let people talk about you like that, Bits."

Bitty huffs. "That's very noble, sweetheart, but I can defend myself."

"Not if you're not there."

"If I'm not there to hear it, then it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"Jack," Bitty says. "You can just punch everyone who says homophobic things about me. You'd be punching a lot of people."

Jack would do it.

He hears Bitty sigh. "What's going to happen, honey? They're not going to go easy on you."

"I don't know," Jack says. "They haven't decided yet."

"Well," Bitty says. "I hope it's nothing too bad, since you were defending my honor and all."

 

 

 

 

  **hockeyybae**  
WHOA zimmermann is mad pissed. i've never seen anybody lose it like that before the game even starts, christ

  **badbobsballs**  
looks like one of the preds said something to provoke him. damn i thought he was going to kill someone out there

  **greatovi8**  
i thought the refs were gonna be better about this shit??

  **badbobsballs**  
what can they really do though? if they don't hear it, is there still grounds for action?

  **greatovi8**  
of course. homophobic slurs should not be allowed

  **badbobsballs**  
no i mean if they don't explicitly hear it happen, i don't think there's a basis for penalties. it's not like everyone is micced (sp?) up to do replays. it's just a shitty situation

 

  **2016 stanley cup champs!!**  @falcs_forever    
jack zimmermann should be suspended.

  **2016 stanley cup champs!!** @falcs_forever   
@falcs_forever you guys know i love the guy. but representation be damned, that shits not welcome on my team

  **Jaime Marco**  @ jaimemarco   
@falcs_forever damn same, that was completely uncalled for and totally unexpected too. he's usually pretty mild

  **((ben))**  @outtamyleague   
@falcs_forever bet he was provoked. i know he's being trotted around as the NHL's rainbow mascot, but let's face it, nothing's really changed. same shit as always

 

  **Jenny Vang**  @jenny.vang   
Falconers GM makes official statement about Jack Zimmermann's pre-game outburst last night in Nashville  https://www.nhl.com/falconers/news/jack-zimmermann-nashville-statement/c-30118842

  **Jenny Vang**  @ jenny.vang   
@jenny.vang "We do not condone this kind of violence on the ice. Jack Zimmermann is suspended for 3 games starting immediately. In addition, he will face fines by the NHL for unsportsmanlike conduct."

  **A is for Alex**  @alexneuman    
@jenny.vang three games? dude should be out for the season. obviously he's got issues. no wonder he couldn't handle the pressure of the draft

  **((ben))**  @ outtamyleague   
@jenny.vang @alexneuman issues or not, he's their best forward. NHL had the Falcs on their knees begging for mercy

  **Gabe**  @ gabe.heck  
@jenny.vang faggot deserves it

 

  **Jack Zimmermann** @ jack_zimmermann  
I'd like to formally apologize for my inappropriate and unsportsmanlike behavior before the game last night in Nashville. I acted aggressively and it was uncalled for. I make no excuses for my actions.

  **Jack Zimmermann** @ jack_zimmermann  
@jack_zimmermann I am deeply sorry to the Falconers, the Predators, the NHL, and the fans. I will take my suspension in stride and use that time to reflect on my actions. I look forward to returning soon and supporting my team. 

 

 

 

 

He gets the call on a Tuesday. He's been waiting for his phone to ring, and it has constantly since he returned to Nashville: Bittle, his agent, Georgia, Shitty, Lardo, Bittle again, his agent again, Georgia again...

Jack called his mother the day after the game and muttered out an apology. She'd been too upset to talk for long, and she said she'd call back when he had taken some time to think about his actions. He can't remember disappointing her like this, not even when he was a teenager who slammed doors and shouted back at his father. Not even after his overdose.

Jack sees the number calling him, and he hopes that it's his mother using the wrong phone.

"Jack," Bob says as a greeting.

"Hi," Jack mutters.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Years ago, Bob would have asked what's wrong with him. Once, when Jack was young, he'd given a head check to a player who'd called him Daddy's boy, and Jack had spent the rest of that game in the locker room having a screaming match with his father. Bob didn't care what the kid said. He didn't care that Jack had a headache or that Jack didn't know if he wanted to play hockey forever.

The last thing was a lie. Jack lives hockey, but there were days he would have forfeited everything just to have a little breathing room. 

The psychiatrist had given his parents a pamphlet about using constructive language, so now when Bob yells at Jack, he can do it without being ableist. 

"I don't know," Jack says, already irritated. "I wasn't thinking."

"No fucking shit. If you have beef with the guy, take care of it off the ice."

"I don't have beef with him," Jack says. "I get it. I won't do it again."

"I don't think you do get it, son," Bob says. "Your's heads not in the game and you're going to fuck up what you've worked so hard to have if you let some asshole get the better of you. Do you know that they're saying about you now?"

Jack knew this wasn't about the fight. His mother might care if he gets into fisticuffs, but Bob's hard his fair share of dirty punches on the ice. He's worried about Jack's reputation: the one that he has already tanked once, the one that he seems hellbent on destroying singlehandedly. 

"You're taking too many risks, Jack. At the end of the day, one cup win doesn't mean shit. How's two sound? Or three? You don't get there by acting like a jackass."

"This isn't about that," Jack says.

"The media's having the time of their lives. All these years, they knew you were just some spoiled hockey prince, and now they've got the fucking footage to prove it! Jack Zimmermann wins one cup and thinks he owns the whole fucking league? I've got reporters harassing me for interviews about your mental healthy. They're dragging the draft shit out again. Is this what you want people to think about you?"

"He insulted me, Papa," Jack says finally. "And Eric."

He hears Bob hesitate for just a second, and Jack imagines him rubbing his furrowed brow, his jaw clenched as he sits down and works through that.

"Jack, you can't punch everyone who insults you."

"Do you know what he called Bittle?"

"I can imagine."

"I need you to know," Jack exclaims. "Because you don't fucking get it."

"Jack-"

"They called him a faggot," Jack says, "and a fairy, and he asked if I'd sucked any cock lately-"

"Christ, Jack. I get it."

"No, you fucking don't!"

He wishes he was fourteen again. He wishes he could throw down the phone and storm upstairs and slam his door, and he could bury himself beneath the blankets until he could breathe again, until he could make sense of his thoughts. He wishes his mother would kiss his forehead and drag him downstairs to apologize for raising his voice. He wishes the fight would be forgotten by the time he left for his next game.

But he's not fourteen.

He's twenty-six, and he stands alone in the living room of his Providence apartment, having a familiar breakdown in a place that suddenly, unexpectedly feels so unlike home.

"You don't get it, Papa," he says.

He hears his father take a breath. Jack feels himself crying.

"Jack," Bob asks. "Are you alone?"

"I'm always alone," Jack says. 

He is on the ground now, legs curled up to his chest, his back to the kitchen counter, tears pouring down his face as he stares at this strange, lived-in place.

"Eric's not there with you?"

"No."

"...do you need me to call someone?"

"I'm fine," Jack exclaims, a vein of anger rising again. He wipes his eyes and presses his forehead to his knees. "I just-"

He cuts himself off.

"Jack?"

"I didn't think this would be so hard," Jack says. "I got lucky with the Falcs, but I didn't realize how lucky. Everyone else hates me."

"That's not true. You've got a lot of loyal fans."

"I don't care," Jack says. "I don't- I mean, I see rainbow flags in the crowds all the time, and there are all these nice people on Twitter, and I thought- I thought it would feel good, but for all those people, there's twice as many who tell me I'm going to hell, and it's just-"

He takes a breath. 

"I just want to play hockey," Jack says. "I'm not trying to be anything else."

Bob waits for a moment. "You picked a lonely road to walk, son," he says finally. "I wish-... I wish I knew what to tell you, Jack, but I think this is something you have to figure out on your own. Or with Eric. I don't know, but- Jack, I don't know what else to tell you." 

 

 

 

 

**Text from Jack <3**  
I can't make it for Halloween  
I'm sorry

**Text from Bitty**  
it's okay. it was a long shot

**Text from Jack <3**  
I haven't seen you since August

**Text from Bitty**  
it's only been a few weeks

**Text from Jack <3**  
A month. I miss you

**Text from Bitty**  
<3 <3 <3  
i miss you too  
so much  
see you at thanksgiving?

**Text from Jack <3**  
which one?

**Text from Bitty**  
you know which one   
eh

**Text from Jack <3**  
Haha  
Are you sure you're not going home?

**Text from Bitty**  
no  
i thought we were done talking about this  
:/

**Text from Jack <3**  
Sorry Bits  
Just want to make sure you're doing okay

**Text from Bitty**  
i haven't talked to my mama in a while  
i don't know about coach  
but i'd rather stick around up here anyways  
my thesis proposal is due right after thanksgiving

**Text from Jack <3**  
you could write that thesis in your sleep

**Text from Bitty**  
only if it gets approved!!

**Text from Jack <3**  
Dr. Atlas loves you  
She'll approve anything you propose  
*Atley

**Text from Bitty**  
idk my argument's not that strong  
it's just like a mass of random research at this point

**Text from Jack <3**  
Send it to me

**Text from Bitty**  
really??

**Text from Jack <3**  
I'll check it out  
Get it? Check it?

**Text from Bitty**  
oh my god  
honey you don't have to read it, it's not good writing at all  
i don't want you to waste your time reading something so boring

**Text from Jack <3**  
You know I like to read boring things

**Text from Bitty**  
lol hopefully it's not that bad  
thank u sweetpea  <3

**Text from Jack <3**  
See you at Thanksgiving

 

 

 

 

 

Jack texts Bitty from the runway in Providence. If he can't be there for Halloween, then he wants to experience as much as possible over the phone.

**Text from Jack <3**  
Send me a picture of your costume tonight

He settles in for the long flight without expecting an immediate response. Samwell had an away game the day before and took a late ride back to campus, so if Bittle is awake at all, it's only to start stringing the Haus with party decorations. 

It's evening by the time the plane lands in Anaheim. The kegster should have started, and while Jack is honestly relieved to be missing out on the wild party, he's a bit disappointed to find no response from Bittle. He knows it's a sexy costume. He's been teased about it for weeks, and he was definitely promised pictures.

(He might have plans for those pictures.)

It's still early, and they've got a game. Jack texts Bittle to be safe, then turns off his phone.

The Falconers win for the first time in weeks. There are celebrations, of course, but Jack retires to the hotel, mumbling something about being tired from the flight. He is tired, but more than that, he's worn out. He lost three early games in the season because of his meltdown at Nashville, and he knows the guys are still treading water around him. Marty and Thirdy have made it their duty to check up on him, and he's beginning to feel like he belongs again. But even Tater gives him a second glance when he heads out that night.

He just needs to be alone.

He goes to bed with wet hair and no new texts. He's a little stung, but not for long; he remembers his senior year, how busy he was, how urgent it felt to make every moment count. He doesn't want Bittle to spend the entire party on his phone anyways. They can talk in the morning. 

Jack wakes up to a phone call at three a.m. 

"Jesus," his roommate mutters, thumping a pillow over his head. 

Jack unplugs his phone and stumbles into the hallway to answer it, realizing too late that he's barely decent, wearing just a pair of boxers. 

"Bittle?" he answers.

"Jack!" Bitty shouts from the other end. "Oh, honey, I miss you!"

Jack winces. "I miss you too, bud. Where are you?"

"We're at IHOP! I was gonna make pancakes but Ford told me I was too drunk to cook and I said never, but I was and I dropped a bunch of eggs, so we came here instead, but I think I'm actually gonna get waffles-"

"You can't get waffles at the International House of Pancakes," someone says.

"Who was that?" Jack asks.

"That was Rocky! Shut up, Rocky, I can do what I want."

Jack wrinkles his nose. "Who's Rocky?"

"He's our new D-man! He's, like, ten feet tall, honey, I can't believe he fit in Ford's car."

Bittle lets out a long, weeping sigh. "I miss you, honey."

"I know, bud."

"Do you miss me too?"

"I miss you a lot, Bits. Drink some water."

"No, I'm having coffee!"

"That's maybe not-"

"Is that Jack?" someone exclaims. "Hi, Jack!"

"Jack, say hi to Chowder!"

"Hi, Chowder."

"Hi, Jack! We watched your game tonight during the party. You guys did awesome!"

"Thanks, Chowder."

"Okay, enough," Bitty huffs, taking the phone back. "Jack, baby..."

"Bits, what time is it there?"

"Oh, it's, like, five, I don't know."

"It's six," someone says.

"It's six."

Jack rubs his eyes. "You're still drunk at six a.m.?"

"Oh, yeah, I took, like, a million shots. Ford knows all these tricks that make alcohol taste not so bad. I think maybe I should get into mixology, you know? Maybe that's where my future lies. I hate tequila though."

"Bitty," Jack says. "Bud, I love you, but it's three in the morning here."

"Oh!" Bitty exclaims. "Oh no, I forgot about the time difference! Did I wake you up, honey?"

"It's fine."

"I forgot, sweetheart, I feel bad now... go back to sleep, hun, you need your beauty sleep after that game!"

The elevator on the other side of the hall dings, and a group of tipsy women stumble out, laughing and clinging to each other. Jack makes eye contact with them, and they freeze.

"I gotta go," he mumbles into the phone.

"I'm sorry for waking you up, honey! I love you!"

"Love you too, Bits," Jack mumbles, then hangs up and disappears into his room. 

"Oh my god!" one of the women hisses, not subtly, as Jack closes the door. "He was, like, almost naked!"

"Did you hear him say I love you to his boyfriend? Oh my god, they're so cute."

"What the fuck is happening out there, Zimmermann?" his roommate grumbles as Jack makes his way back to bed.

Jack clambers under the sheets. "Nothing just drunk people."

"Sounds like your fucking fan club." 

"Go back to sleep."

"What're you gonna do, punch me?"

Jack sets his phone down on the nightstand and curls up, closing his eyes. He's about to drift off again when his phone buzzes. 

**Text from Bitty**  
i promised pics ;)

The photos are staged, probably by Ford. But damn, she did a good job.

Bitty stands on the Haus stairs in a striped blue-and-white baseball jersey, one leg propped up a stair higher. He leans on his knee, really showing off his ass. And he's really, really showing off, because his shorts are just barely there. Jack looks at the next photo, one of Bitty with his back to the camera, and wheezes when he sees the number 69 stitched onto the jersey. 

**Text from Jack <3**  
Please tell me you didn't wear that to IHOP

**Text from Bitty**  
that's it? :(  
baby tell me how good i look

**Text from Jack <3**  
You look amazing  
But please tell me you put on something else

**Text from Bitty**  
r u jealous that someone at IHOP is going to want me

**Text from Jack <3**  
Yes  
Also your jersey says 69

**Text from Bitty**  
i know ;)  
and yes ford made me put on real shorts

He doesn't know how Bittle defines real shorts, but as they long as they don't display most of his ass, that's good enough for Jack. Some views are too good to share. Not much was done about the jersey, it seems, but Jack can hope that most people at IHOP at 6 a.m. the day after Halloween were too drunk to notice anything.

**Text from Jack <3**  
You look hot

**Text from Bitty**  
call me baby

**Text from Jack <3**  
You're so hot baby

**Text from Bitty**  
mmm am i??   
;)

**Text from Jack <3**  
If I didn't have a roommate

**Text from Bitty**  
he's probably jerked off in front of you before

**Text from Jack <3**  
Bits

**Text from Bitty**  
just take a 3 am shower ;)

**Text from Jack <3**  
haha

"Zimmermann, stop sexting your sugar baby and go the fuck to sleep."

"He's not-" Jack rolls over. "Okay."

**Text from Jack <3**  
Going to sleep now

**Text from Bitty**  
ur not looking at my pics??  
i took them just for you baby

**Text from Jack <3**  
Tomorrow

**Text from Bitty**  
skype me tomorrow night?  
you'll get something better than pics ;)

**Text from Jack <3**  
Yes please 

**Text from Bitty**  
lol ur so thirsty

**Text from Jack <3**  
Actually going to sleep now. Be good

**Text from Bitty**  
no

**Text from Jack <3**  
I tried

 

 

 

 

Jack makes it to Massachusetts for Thanksgiving, pulling up to the Haus just in time to catch the last of the boys leaving for the break. They have a game on Saturday, so no one is going far; but Nursey and Dex both made it home, and Chowder is crashing with someone else for the holiday, and Bittle... Bittle is already home.

He flings himself at Jack when he walks through the door, and they stay like that for a long time, Bittle's arms around his neck, head on his shoulder. Jack buries his nose into Bittle's hair and rubs his back, letting himself be pressed against the wall for as long as Bitty needs. 

When Bitty finally pulls away, he's sniffling.

"I missed you," he mutters, wiping his eyes.

Jack kisses his forehead. "I missed you too, bud."

"It's just been," Bittle starts, then shakes his head and stops. "Never mind."

"What?"

"I'm just ready for this semester to be over," Bittle says, looking up at Jack. He smiles, his chin perched on Jack's chest, even though his eyes are pink. "I've barely even had time to bake."

"Well, we can't have that," Jack says, bending to kiss him. Bittle hums into his lips, then wraps an arm around him and guides him to the kitchen. "How many pies are you making for Thanksgiving?"

"Just a few," Bittle says. "We've got pumpkin and apple and, oh, I'm making turkey pot pie for dinner? Because Lord knows I don't have the patience to cook a whole turkey. I thought about a cheesecake too. Does that sound good?"

They settle into a familiar routine in the kitchen. Jack feels whole again, for the first time since the summer. Maybe longer than that, he thinks. It hits him with a twang of regret, how long they've been apart, how he's let the world get the better of him in Bittle's absence. He should apologize for all of that. Later, though. Bits has cried enough today. 

"...and I'm really liking all of my classes, for once, but it's just been so much work, sweetheart," Bittle sighs. "I don't think I was ready for it. Dr. Atley tried to warn me last semester when I was registering for classes, but I thought I could handle three writing seminars since they were all such interesting topics."

He talks as he stirs a bowl of sugar and butter. Jack stands beside him, chopping apples.

"I don't know why I thought I could do it," Bitty says. "I've never been that strong of a writer. Maybe I should've been a media major. Then I wouldn't have to write a thesis."

He glances up at Jack, eyes wide. "Oh! Did you read over my thesis proposal?"

Jack looks at him. "Oh."

Bitty blinks.

"Oh, Bits," Jack says, and Bitty's face falls. "I completely forgot."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Bits, I just-"

"It's fine, Jack."

"I'm sorry."

"I know you're busy."

"But I said I would read it," Jack says, "and you could probably use a second pair of eyes."

Bittle purses his lips as he stirs. "Well, you don't have to say it like that."

Jack pauses. "No, I just mean... you know that writing isn't your strong suit."

"Yeah, so I don't need you to point it out to me."

Bittle stirs vigorously. Jack's knife slows on the apples.

"I'm sorry, Bittle," he says.

Bittle doesn't look at him. "Jack, it's fine. I can find someone else."

"Isn't it due next week?"

"Let's just finish this pie," Bitty exclaims.

His voice is so high, so cracked, that Jack jerks and stares at him. He's crying again.

"Bits," Jack exclaims, dropping the knife. "Bitty, I'm sorry."

"It's not the stupid paper, Jack."

Jack blinks. "...then what?" 

Bittle buries into him again, and when he finally stops sobbing, they've made their way upstairs to his bedroom. He curls into a ball in Jack's arms, tears soaking through Jack's shirt. Jack presses his cheek against Bittle's hair, murmuring to him, and holds him close, fingers whispering up and down his arms.

Bitty sits up, his face red and mussed, and keeps one hand on Jack's chest, wrinkling in his chest.

"My mama wants me to come home for Christmas," he says. 

Jack keeps one arm around Bittle's waist. "Are you... okay with that?"

"It's-" Bitty starts.

He hiccups.

"I know we talked about me staying with you," he continues. "But I- this is what I wanted, isn't it? I'd love to spend Christmas with you, honey, but my- my parents really want me to come home, and I, I can't pass that up sweetheart." 

He rubs his eyes. "There were days I thought I'd never talk to them again," he says. "My mama was texting me, but she'd never want to talk about it when I called and she stopped asking about you and- but, a few days ago, she called and asked me what I was doing for Thanksgiving and maybe- well, maybe I'm being naive and they're just going to tell me about God and stuff, but my mama, she was crying on the phone. She said she loves me. She said she wants me to come home."

"You should go," Jack says. 

"Is that okay with you?"

"I- Bits, you don't have to ask me permission to go see your parents."

"I'm just, I don't know, nervous, I guess. I want to feel like I'm doing the right thing."

"If it's what you want, then you should do it."

"I've been reading a lot of articles," Bittle says, cutting Jack off. He smooths out the wrinkles in Jack's shirt and sits back against the wall, dragging a pillow into his lap. "A lot of people on the internet think that you should shut people out of your life if they don't totally support you. I read an article about a girl whose parents kicked her out when she came out and she ended up changing her name so they can't find her again. People think that if your family can't accept you the first time, then they're not worth having in your life."

He pauses to catch his breath.

Jack raises an eyebrow. "Do you think that?"

"No," Bittle says instantly. "I don't know. I'm having a lot of feelings."

"Do you want me to go down with you?"

"No, Jack, I don't need you there to hold my hand every time I get nervous," Bitty says.

There's an edge in his voice; he's just angry. But he stops instantly and glances at Jack.

"I didn't mean it like that, honey," Bittle says in a soft voice.

"I know," Jack says.

"I wasn't trying to-"

"I know, Bits." 

"I'll be okay by myself," Bittle says. "I should do it alone anyways."

Jack rubs his back. "How about we go finish that pie, eh?"

Bittle sets the pillow aside and curls up against Jack, head on his shoulder, an arm tucked across his stomach. "I kinda wanna take a nap."

"You're gonna leave it out by itself?"

"It's fine," Bittle says, closing his eyes. "We have enough pie for tomorrow anyways."

He falls asleep like that, curled up in Jack's arms, sniffling in his sleep. Jack lies awake into the evening, his mind running. He can feel Bittle's heartbeat against his chest. It's just one pace offbeat from his own rhythm, but he can't get the misstep out of his head.

 

 

 

 

Providence is quiet in December, and so is Bittle. 

The Falconers have been losing. Jack knows that they're off their game, but he doesn't know how to fix it. He leaves practice that day fighting the urge to punch something: the nearest wall that won't shatter his hands. Instead, he curls his fists around his steering wheel and meets Bittle at the train station, where they lean into routine. They come home, Bitty cooks dinner, they cuddle on the couch and watch the Schooners play in Boston.

It's still early when they go to bed. Jack slips out of his shirt before crawling in next to Bittle, who settles down against his shoulder and keeps a hand on his hips.

"Hey, bud," Jack murmurs against Bitty's forehead.

"Hi, honey." Bitty closes his eyes. "I've missed this."

"Me too."

They shift until Bittle's propped up in his lap, Jack's hands rubbing along the backs of his thighs. They kiss for a while, soft, slow, and it's been so long that Jack can't help when he grinds up against Bittle through his boxers.

Bitty hums and moves against him. "Mm, honey."

"We don't have to do anything."

"Mm." He has his arms around Jack's shoulders, Jack's lips on his neck. "I'm not going to see you for a long time."

Jack tucks a thumb beneath his waistband. "Only a few weeks."

A few weeks is nothing compared to their months apart after their summer together, but still, he doesn't know if he can stand to be away from Bitty for that long.

Bitty kisses him with trembling lips, his hands hesitant on Jack's chest. It reminds Jack of their first time together: Bittle, soft and blushing; Jack, equally as scared but determined not to show it. Bittle had been quiet then too, but only because he'd been unsure of himself. He hadn't stayed quiet for long.

Tonight, he seems distant, like he's already down in Georgia. He kisses Jack, fingers threading through thick hair, but Jack barely gets a peep when he lies Bittle on his back and goes down on him. 

"Are you okay?" Jack asks when he comes back up. 

It's been more than a while since they've had sex. Jack's erection is nearly bursting in his boxers. Bittle, on the other hand, lies still on the bed, getting soft in Jack's hand as Jack strokes him. 

"I'm okay, honey," Bitty says, sliding a hand around Jack's shoulders. His other hand pushes back through his hair. 

"You're kind of, uh," Jack says, glancing down.

Bittle reaches down and pushes Jack's hand out of the way to stroke himself. "Sorry," he sighs. "I'm just tired." 

"Bits, we don't have to have sex."

"No, I want to, I'm not going to see you for a month."

Bittle holds him close, humming against his jaw as Jack fumbles out of his boxers and presses their bodies together. He can feel Bitty getting hard again, and he pushes against him, one hand gripping the back of Bittle's thigh. For a moment, their breaths are in time, rough and quick together as they rub against each other; then Bittle falls quiet again, one hand limply clinging at Jack's shoulder.

"You okay?" Jack asks between breaths. 

He kisses Bitty's collarbone. 

"I'm fine," Bitty says. "I just- I guess I don't know if I want to have sex right now."

Jack turns his face up, nose brushing Bitty's chin.

"That's fine," he says.

"Is that okay?"

"Of course. That's fine."

He rolls over and lies down next to Bittle, who reaches for the sheets and stretches them across their hips. He settles on his side, facing Jack, but he fidgets with the sheets, restless. 

"Are you okay?" Jack asks. He has an arm outstretched; it's normally where Bittle likes to put his head, tucked up against Jack's shoulder, but tonight he lies back, his gaze distant.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"I just don't want to have sex, Jack," Bitty exclaims. "That's it."

Jack blinks. "...okay."

"I'm sorry," Bitty mutters. He lets go of the sheets and presses a tender hand to Jack's chest. "I'm just on edge, I guess. I just want to go to sleep."

Jack wraps an awkward arm around him. After a moment of hesitation, Bittle settles in.

They lie in silence for a few minutes, Bittle's breath echoing softly in the dark room. Bittle shifts closer to him, curling an arm around his chest. He presses a knee to Jack's thigh, then starts and glances up.

"Oh, sorry," he says. "I didn't realize you were still-"

"No, it's okay," Jack says. "I uh- I should take a shower."

Bittle curls into the pillows and whispers a goodnight. 

Jack finishes in the shower, the hot water pounding against his skin. He jerks off more aggressively than he means to, groaning and biting his lip as he pounds his hand back and forth. He hopes that Bittle doesn't hear. He comes against the wall with a gasp; for a moment, he feels relieved. But there's a pit in stomach that won't go away.

He checks on Bittle, who is sleeping soundly, hugging a pillow. Jack makes a pot of tea and drinks himself to sleep watching documentaries on the couch. 

"You could have come back to bed," Bittle says over breakfast.

Jack rubs his eyes. "I couldn't sleep."

"So you slept on the couch?"

"I meant to come back to bed." Jack says. "I'm sorry."

Bittle's lips twitch.

Jack resists the urge to add,  _It's not like you wanted me there_.

He's just stressed. He doesn't mean it. He shouldn't say it.

"Fine," Bittle says. "Can you just take me to the airport?"

Jack blinks, looking up from his coffee. "Your flight's not until this afternoon."

"If I stay here, we're going to fight," Bitty says. 

He's not looking at Jack, instead staring at the half-eaten piece of toast left on his plate. Jack wonders what toast means, and if he should be too worried that Bitty didn't whip up a feast this morning. He's just tired. He needs to go home.

"I don't want to fight right before Christmas," Bittle says. "So can we just pretend that we had a great night and say goodbye and leave this behind us?"

Jack kisses him at the airport, an arm around his waist. They kiss like they haven't been fighting, like they didn't drive to the airport in stony silence. Bittle shakes beneath his touch, and Jack wants to ask if it's him or his parents or something else or all of it at once. But Bittle takes his bag and avoids his gaze and gives one last, quiet  _I love you_ before turning his back.

"Love you too, bud," Jack says when Bittle pulls out of his touch. "Call me if you need me."

He stands there for a long time, watching until Bitty has disappeared into the security line. There's a knot growing in his stomach, and he doesn't know if he can shake it.

He turns around and goes home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Text from Jack <3**  
Hey babe. I'm sorry that things were weird before you left. You don't have to respond. Just wanted to check in and see how it's going with your parents.  
Love you.

**Text from Bitty**  
hi honey  
i'll call you soon  
long story short, my parents are adjusting  
not perfect but they're trying  
sorry for being weird  
i miss you  
<3

**Text from Jack <3  
** Glad to hear it. Tell them I said hi

**Text from Bitty**  
okay  
love you too 

 

 

 

 

"Trouble in paradise?" Marty asks, nudging him in the side. 

Jack glances up from his phone. Practice has been out for half an hour; normally, Jack's one of the first to shower and leave. He should be on his way home. But he'd texted Bittle just after getting off the rink, and he hasn't been able to keep himself from sitting in the locker room and staring at his phone, waiting for a response.

"He went to see his parents, didn't he?" Thirdy asks, glancing over his shoulder. "Hope that works out."

Jack has a feeling they've picked up on his silence.

"He says it's okay," Jack says, glancing down at his phone. "His parents are trying."

"That's good," Thirdy says. "Otherwise we might've had to go down there and knock some sense into 'em."

Jack tries to smile. Marty notices.

"Hey, kid," he says, switching languages. Thirdy makes himself scarce. "You need to talk?"

"No," Jack says, putting his phone away. "I'm fine."

"You sure? You barely talk about Bittle anymore."

Jack makes himself busy with his gear. "I'm talking about him right now."

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"You used to fawn over that boy every time he was brought up. You could go on about him for hours. You've barely said a word in the last few weeks."

"I don't want to talk," Jack exclaims.

Marty stops. "Okay. Just so you know..."

"I get it," Jack says. He heaves his bag over his shoulder. "I'm leaving."

"You haven't showered, kid."

He tries not to slam the door on his way out. It bangs shut behind him anyways, and he curses at himself for acting like a child again. He breathes fast as he escapes, fumbling with his car keys.

He shouldn't be driving right now. Probably not. But he has to get out of here. He's already had one meltdown this season, on ice, in front of the world. The team looks at him differently. He can't keep doing that: breaking down every time things don't go his way. He has to show his team that he can be there for them. He's not a teenager anymore. He can't just have a panic attack every single time-

Jack sits in his car and clenches the steering wheel.

"I'm fine," he murmurs to the rearview mirror. "Just breathe."

Home is close. He's driven farther on less breath.

He makes it two miles before he nearly gets hit at an intersection. He stops, sucks in a breath, and pulls over at a gas station. 

"Maman," he says when she answers the phone.

"Hi, Jack. How are you, baby?"

"I'm sorry," he mutters. 

"...Jack?"

He drops his head against the steering wheel. "I know I can't keep calling you every time I'm freaking out. I know it's not healthy."

"Jack, I'd rather you reach out than ever keep anything to yourself."

_Again_ , is what she doesn't say, but Jack hears it.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I thought I was okay. I thought I was over this."

"Jack-"

"I'm such a god damn child," he exclaims. "I can't go one fucking month without having a panic attack and calling my mom like a god damn teenager."

"Jack Laurent, listen to me," Alicia says.

He holds his breath. 

"This isn't something you can just get over, baby," she says. "You know that. We've talked about this, remember? There's no cure, baby. Sometimes you'll have bad days."

"I've been having a lot of bad days."

"I'm sorry, baby. I know it's not easy on you. I know the last few months have been rough."

He hears her sigh. "Why don't you come home for Christmas? You have a few days off in there, don't you?"

"No," Jack exclaims, sitting upright. "I'm not a kid anymore, I can't just drop everything and run home-"

"It doesn't matter how old you are, Jack. Sometimes it helps to be at home." 

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. The immediate panic has subsided. He can feel his heart slowing down, but the knot in his stomach remains. 

"Okay," he says finally. "I'll come home, but just for a bit."

"Are you bringing Eric?"

Jack glances out his car window. "He's in Georgia, Maman."

"Oh. Is he doing okay?"

"He's fine," Jack says. "I don't know. I haven't really talked to him."

There's a silence on the other end. 

"Is that what this is about?" Alicia asks.

Jack rubs his eyes, leaning across the steering wheel again, and lets out a breath. "I don't know, Maman. It's about a lot of things."

"Look at your schedule and tell me when you can be here, even if it's just for a day or two. I think you need a holiday, baby."

"Okay."

"We love you, Jack. Your father's not here, but I can have him call you, if you want."

"No," Jack grumbles.

He can hear the face she makes.

"Sorry," he says. "No, I don't need to talk to him."

"Take the rest of the day off, baby. Call me if you need anything."

"Okay, Maman."

"Love you, Jack."

"Love you, Maman." 

 

 

 

 

**Text from Bitty  
** merry christmas!! 

**Text from Jack <3  
** Merry Christmas :)

**Text from Bitty**  
what are the zimmermann clan plans?

**Text from Jack <3**  
Haha  
I'm making pancakes with my mom right now  
Then we're going for a skate on the lake

**Text from Bitty**  
you've never made pancakes for me :(

**Text from Jack <3**  
You've never let me close enough to the stove to try

**Text from Bitty**  
fair enough

**Text from Jack <3**  
What are you doing today?

**Text from Bitty**  
i made cinnamon rolls  
mama and I are about to start working on christmas dinner   
we didn't really do presents this year   
but i'm happy to be home

**Text from Jack <3**  
Tell the Bittles I said hi

**Text from Bitty**  
coach says good luck next week  
tell your folks i said happy holidays

**Text from Jack <3**  
I will

**Text from Bitty**  
have fun on the lake  
don't fall in :)

**Text from Jack <3  
** Haha

 

 

 

 

 

It's snowing in Providence when Jack meets Bitty at the airport. He's only been gone for a month, but he looks older somehow. He's glowing again, the way he used to, but there's something different about him. Independence, maybe. He chugs towards Jack, duffel bag heaved over his shoulder, his chin up.

Maybe he's looked this way for a while, and Jack hasn't noticed until now.

"Oh, honey," is the first thing out of Bittle's mouth, still a good ten feet away. 

He drops his bag and meets Jack halfway, curling up in his arms. Jack holds him, cheek against Bittle's forehead, arms wrapped around him. They stay like that for a while, longer than they should in the middle of the airport. Someone's camera flashes, and Bittle finally pulls away. 

"You look tired, sweetheart," Bittle says, brushing a hand across Jack's cheek.

"I'm fine, Bits," Jack says, smiling down at him.  

"Oh, honey, you've got bags under your eyes." 

"Bitty, I'm fine," Jack says, Bittle leaning into him. "You're looking fine too, cutie."

Bittle wrinkles his nose. "Cutie?"

"What?"

"Where did that come from?"

"I don't know," Jack says. He reaches down for Bittle's bag and throws it over his shoulder, one arm still wrapped around Bittle's shoulders. "You're looking real cute."

"Jack Zimmermann," Bitty says, smiling. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to sweet talk me."

"Maybe not so sweet, eh," Jack says. He bumps Bittle with his hip.

Bittle swats at him, then tucks himself closer, holding onto Jack as they walk to the car. "You better watch yourself, young man. My father'll want to have a word with you."

"Mm," Jack hums. 

When they get to the car, he stops and gives Bittle a kiss, full and deep, in the middle of the parking garage. Bitty wriggles in his arms: happy, but restless. Soon, he pulls out of the kiss and shoves Jack towards the car.

"Get me home," he says. "Now."

Jack keeps one hand on Bittle's knee as they drive home. The air between them is charged, and he can't wait to drop Bitty onto the bed and keep him there all night. He can feel Bitty silently urging him to drive faster; he plays with Jack's hand, trying to coax it farther up his thigh. Jack gives Bittle's knee a loving squeeze and slows the car down.

"Jack," Bittle says. 

"Hm?"

"I know what you're doing."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Stop teasing me," Bittle says, leaning over to poke his ribs. "I've been away from you long enough. I just want to get you home."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes."

"What do you wanna do with me once we're there?"

"Jack."

"Come on, cutie, humor me."

Bittle's voice drops. "I want you to make love to me. I want to get in bed with you and never leave."

"Mm."

"Well, at least not until tomorrow morning. Then I'm gonna make you brunch wearing nothing but one of your shirts. I have this new citrus pancake recipe I'm dying to try on you. And then-"

"I have practice in the morning," Jack says.

Bittle lets go of his hand. "What?"

"I have practice everyday this week," Jack says.

"...I thought you had some time off."

"Come on, Bits, you've been watching our games. You know we need the extra ice time."

"We had plans."

"I- we did, bud, but I can't miss practice."

"...hm."

"You know how it is."

"I would have appreciated a heads-up before I flew all the way up here."

Jack glances at him. "What do you mean? I'll be around in the evenings."

"Well, I know, Jack, but I came up early because I wanted to spend time with you. If I had known you weren't going to be around, I would've stayed home a little longer."

Jack retracts his hand from Bitty's knee. "I'll be around. Just not all the time."

"It's fine," Bitty says. He looks out the window. "I'm happy for any time we have together."

Jack lets that sit for a moment as the car waits quietly at a red light. He stares toward the road, the light reflecting across the windshield, across the snow-covered streets. 

He glances at Bittle. "You really don't seem happy about it."

"I'm sorry, Jack," Bittle sighs. "I'm not trying to be a brat, I'm just- I guess I'm just kind of mad at you."

Jack looks back to the road. "Because I didn't tell you that I have practice this week?"

"You made it seem like we'd have the week all to ourselves," Bitty exclaims. "And I'm glad that I get to see you regardless, but it's not really the same if you're in and out of practice all the time. Maybe..."

He trails off, shaking his head.

"What?" Jack asks.

"Nothing."

"What, Bits?"

"Maybe you should just take me back to school," Bitty says.

Jack blinks. "What, now?"

"Maybe tomorrow afternoon," Bitty says. "I do want to see at least a little of you."

"Then stay the week, Bits. It's not like I'm out of town or something."

"I've got things to do on campus anyways," Bitty says. "My thesis and everything."

"You can do that here."

"I need the library." 

"I thought you wanted to come to the game on Thursday."

"I did when I thought I'd be able to see you afterwards."

The light turns green. Jack says nothing, just presses on the gas. He knows that Bittle is mad at him, and he knows that Bittle is right. He chews for a second, then makes up his mind.

"I can take you to the train station tomorrow," he says. "I'll buy you a ticket."

"You don't have to do that." 

"I made you come all the way out here to stay for one night. I'm buying you a ticket."

Bittle glances out the window. "Fine."

"If you want," Jack offers, though he already knows the answer, "you can come back next week. It's our bye week."

"Classes start next week."

"You can come for the weekend."

"We have a game."

"I can come to your game," Jack says, and Bittle sighs. 

"It's fine, Jack, okay? Things happen."

"I don't mind," Jack says. "I won't have anything else to do."

"Fine," Bittle says. "But only because the boys will want to see you."

"It won't be like this forever, Bits," Jack says. "I know you're busy with school and everything, but once you graduate and move out here-"

"What?" Bittle exclaims, looking at him.

Jack hesitates. "...isn't that what you want?"

Bittle stares at him for a moment, quiet. Then, he asks, "Do you want me to move in with you?"

"Once you graduate," Jack says. "Yeah."

From the corner of his eye, he watches Bittle slink down into the seat.

"Bits, I thought that's where we were headed."

"I have to find a job, Jack. I can't just- I mean, of course, I want to live with you, sweetheart, but I can't just drop everything and move to Providence."

"I know," Jack says. "But you can find something to do here."

Bittle says nothing else, just nods and turns to the window. The car pulls into Jack's lot, and when he shuts the engine off, there are a few seconds of silence before Bittle sits up in his seat and looks at him.

"That was the least romantic way you could have asked," he says.

Jack blinks. "I thought it was just a given."

"Oh, darlin'," Bitty sighs. He undoes his seatbelt. "I'm not really in the mood anymore."

"Okay," Jack says. "Let's just..."

He trails off.

Bittle opens the passenger side door. "I'll make dinner," he says. "You look exhausted, honey."

 

 

 

 

Samwell wins their first home game of the semester, and Jack is there for a congratulatory hug when Bittle stumbles into the locker room. He takes advantage of their long, sweaty embrace to stick his nose in Bittle's hair and remember how it felt to play with him. He smells good in the heat of the moment, and Jack finds himself clinging to that scent when Bittle drags him upstairs during the kegster and undresses him. 

The bed is smaller than Jack remembers, and louder too. It creaks beneath them as they clamber out of their clothes, and when Jack finally pushes into Bittle, biting back his gasps, it feels like the entire room is shaking. The sex is good despite the paranoia of being walked in on by a drunk partier; it's been so long since they've shared this, and Bittle clings to Jack's skin, groaning against his shoulder with every thrust.

"Jack," he moans. "Oh, Jack..."

"Bits, there are people downstairs." 

"They're all drunk," Bittle says through short breath. "Oh, honey, I forgot how big you are..."

"Are you okay? Do you need me to slow down?"

"No, sweetheart, you feel good. Mmm, Jack..."

"If I'd known you were going to make such a racket, I'd have gotten us a hotel room."

"I'm not your paramour, Jack Zimmermann," Bittle exclaims, pushing a hand through Jack's hair. "I want to be fucked in my own bed."

" _Baby_."

"And I'll be as loud as I want," Bittle says.

He gives a loud, wandering moan with his fingers curled in Jack's hair. Jack pushes out of his grasp and shushes him with a kiss. Bitty's voice softens under his lips.

"That's it," Jack murmurs. He kisses Bitty's cheek, his neck, his collarbone. "That's good, baby, just like that..."

"Say my name," Bittle moans. 

His thighs quiver across Jack's hips.

"Oh, Bitty, you're so good, Bitty."

"Am I good for you, honey? Jack, tell me I'm good for you."

"You're so good for me, Bits, you feel so good."

Bitty clutches at Jack's shoulders. "Tell me you love me."

Jack draws his lips up Bitty's jawline. "I love you, baby."

"Do you mean it?"

Jack pauses for just a second, and then Bitty's nails dig into his shoulders.

"Of course, I mean it," Jack says. He kisses Bitty's ear. "I love you so much, Bits."

"Do you mean it though?" Bitty exclaims, setting his hands firmly on Jack's chest. "Do you really mean it?"

Jack pulls out and holds himself up on his elbows, Bittle's legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Bitty is staring up at him, eyes wide; he looks breathless, not lovestruck. His gaze is dark.

"I love you, Bits," Jack says, brow furrowed. "Of course, I mean it."

"I need you to mean it, Jack," Bitty says. "Don't say it unless you mean it."

"I mean it, baby," Jack says, leaning down to kiss him.

Bitty squirms out of the way. "Don't call me baby. You only call me that when you want something."

"I- Bits, we can stop if you want," Jack says. His cock is heavy and wet with lube; Bittle's just as hard, already spilling pre-come, but he doesn't seem bothered. "But what's-"

"I don't want to sleep with you if you don't really love me," Bittle exclaims.

"I love you," Jack says. "What's this about?"

Bitty stares up at him for a moment, wide-eyed; then his face turns red and he throws a hand over his brow. 

"Oh, lord," he mutters. "I'm sorry, honey, I don't know what come over me just now."

"Do you think I don't love you?"

"No, Jack, of course not," he exclaims, reaching up to hold Jack by the jaw. "I just got a little frantic, I think. It's been a while since we've had sex. I guess I just..."

He shakes his head, cutting himself off. "Sorry, honey. I guess I just needed to hear you say it."

"I love you, Bits," Jack says. 

He bends to kiss Bittle, and this time he's met with a full response, Bittle arching up into his body. 

"Oh," he moans over Jack's skin. "I know you do, honey."

"Do you want to finish?" 

"Yeah, yeah, keep going, sweetheart. I'm sorry for acting like such a fool, I just really missed you, I think, and I know we kind of fought last week and before Christmas too, and I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I just wanted to hear you say it, honey, I just needed to hear you say it after being apart for so- oh, _Jack_."

 

 

 

 

#### Falconers win 4-0 against Oilers, aim to clinch playoff spot for chance at 2nd Cup

_Katie Stankiewicz, sports contributor_

> In a surprise comeback after a string of losses, the Providence Falconers overcame the Edmonton Oilers last night in a decisive victory that puts them back on the path to the playoffs. The winning goal came from none other than Jack Zimmermann (#1), who also scored the game winner last year in Providence's astounding Stanley Cup victory over the Seattle Schooners.  

  **hockeyybae**  
holy shit my boys are making a comeback. please let them make the playoffs again this year.

  **greatovi8**  
there's no way. they played like shit early in the season

  **hockeyybae**  
ok but they did amazing last night. also no one asked you.

  **greatovi8**  
just telling it like it is. they're definitely not fit for another cup win

  **hockeyybae**  
i don't think anyone's expecting them to win another cup, like that would be unbelievable. it's just nice to see my team doing well after suffering for so long, so uhhh get lost

  **notapuckbunny**  
looks like zimmermann finally got his shit together enough to score some damn goals

  **b0st0nbru1ns**  
still think he should have been banned for the season.

  **hockeyybae**  
i've never understood why that's such a popular opinion, like what do you guys have against him?? obviously what he did at the preds game was not cool and i'm glad he got served by the nhl, but he did his time and apologized. not to mention he was probably provoked :/

  **notapuckbunny**  
i think people are just angry because there's a difference between fighting during a game and just swinging at someone during warmups. and we don't know if/what the preds players said to set him off like that. you can't see or hear anything in the replay videos so tbh it looks like he just starts throwing hands for no reason

  **hockeyybae**  
well whatever. we're here now. let's go falcs!!

 

  **it's sarah**  @sunflower.sarah   
@omgcheckplease i know you don't check this account much anymore, but just wanted to say congrats on samwell's winning streak! you guys are doing great.

  **Eric Bittle**  @omgcheckplease   
@sunflower.sarah thanks Sarah! Who knows, maybe we'll make it to the frozen four this year! :)

  **it's sarah**  @sunflower.sarah   
@omgcheckplease yay! and tell your boyfriend that i'm a falcs fan now, just for him!

  **Eric Bittle**  @omgcheckplease   
@sunflower.sarah LOL

 

  **Kent Parson**  @kentparsonaces   
Kit is looking forward to watching the Aces win this weekend!  


  **Jeff Troy**  @jefftroyofficial   
@kentparsonaces Whoa Parse you have a cat? You never talk about her.

 

  **Jenny Vang**  @jenny.vang   
Hey @kentparsonaces, I'm a writer with BuzzFeed. Do you have a moment to talk about the recent photos of you posted online?

 

 

 

 

#### NHL Player Kent Parson Outed by Twitter Photos

is the first headline Jack reads. 

He feels a cold dread rise in his chest. An impalpable fear lives in those words, the fear of quiet hotel rooms and stolen kisses behind the bus, the fear that someone's warm hands have eased out of his heart. The fear he thought he'd never have to feel again. 

The photos tell a different story. 

Kent is mid-stride out the door of a bar that waves a rainbow flag over its entrance; he has both hands in his pockets, but he bumps shoulders with another man as they leave the club, walking in the same direction. The camera catches their shared smiles. Kent looks straight at the lens. Kent smirks. Kent keeps walking. 

Jack feels the familiar cold dread in his heart, the twisting knot in his stomach, hunched in his car, staring at his phone as he waits for practice to begin. He doesn't know why the headline bothers him, but he reads another, and another, and his hands are shaking. He thought someone might make the connection. He warned Parse a long time ago.

Back then, Kent was just cold. He took the warning and hung up before Jack could ask how he was. They haven't spoken since. 

Now, staring the world in the face as he walks with another man- hookup? boyfriend? partner?-, as he steps out the front doors of a gay bar, the flag flying high, he looks smug. He looks proud. He wants people to know. 

Jack reads every article he can find until Tater calls him and asks where the hell he is. He stumbles into the locker, muttering an apology to no one in particular, and misses every single pass in practice. He earns himself a carefully worded check-in from Marty and a surprise appointment with the team psychiatrist, who wants to know how he's been sleeping.

"I'm fine," Jack says. "We've been working hard. I'm just a little tired."

"I see," the psychiatrist says from behind his desk. "How are you feeling about the recent news?"

He rubs his brow. "What news?"

"I think you know what I'm talking about. It'd be hard to avoid. Kent Parson was outed this week-"

"It doesn't really look like he's been outed," Jack says.

The psychiatrist furrows his brow. "Why's that?"

"Do you see that stupid face he's making? He's taunting me."

The psychiatrist hesitates long enough for Jack to escape.

"Sorry," he says. "You're right, it's the news. I think I'll just stay off social media for a while."

"I think that's a good idea."

 

 

 

 

#### Kent Parson Kind Of But Doesn't Really Deny Gay Rumors

_Jenny Vang, BuzzFeed News Reporter_

**Earlier this week, Twitter user @yeahyyeah posted photos of you leaving The Garage, a well-known gay club in Las Vegas, with another man.**    

> "I posted a really cute picture of my cat on Tuesday, but no one's interviewing me about that. Follow her on Instagram at kitpurrson."

**I think people care about this because, if this is your way of coming out, it would make you only the second openly gay player in the NHL.**  

> "I didn't post the photos, Jenny."

**So, you're denying the rumors that you're gay? Even though there are photos of you leaving a gay bar with another man?**  

> "Is there an actual question in there?"

**Do you want me to just come out and ask?**   

> [laughs] "Sure, come on out."

**Kent, are you gay?**  

> "These days, you know... who isn't?"

 

  **badbobsballs  
** kent parson:    


  **puckslut**  


  **badbobsballs**  
how did KENT PARSON become the biggest mood on the planet

  **puckslut**  
mom: christine, be honest with me, are you gay  
me: these days, you know... who isn't?

  **badbobsballs**  
christine is such a gay fucking name, how does your mom not already know

  **puckslut**  
weird because she was the one who named me. holy fuck she's been gaslighting me since birth

 

  **carrie**  @yerawizard_carrie   
can someone tell jenny vang how to be a reporter thanks

  **let's go boys**  @falcs_forever   
@yerawizard_carrie  dude she works for buzzfeed. it's a lost cause

 

  **sweet ana**  @anabanana   
still can't believe that kent parson did an interview with buzzfeed and came out but only in like the gayest way possible. what a shady bitch. we stan a legend

 

 

 

 

#### EXCLUSIVE INSIDE SCOOP ON PARSON/ZIMMERMANN/BITTLE LOVE TRIANGLE    

> Okay, so the headline is clickbait. But how else is a humble student journalist supposed to get people to read her Letters From The Editor?
> 
> This issue of  _The Swallow_  is the one you've all been waiting for. These 48 matte-print pages contain the hot deets on Samwell's biggest scandals, secrets, and sleazefests, covered for the first time every by our team of investigative journalists. 
> 
> Our reporters snooped in every corner on campus, conducted covert operations at Annie's, and even made a trip out to Providence to hit up one certain hockey-playing alumni from the class of 2015.
> 
> And while we didn't score a one-on-one interview with Jack Zimmermann, we did dig up plenty of dirt from Samwell's darkest corners. Are there really suicidal ghosts haunting the library basement? Who were they? Why are they still here? Why have we had seven provosts in the last ten years, and why do they keep being let go under mysterious circumstances? How many professors have resigned in disgrace after sleeping with their students? How many students are bagging academic sugar daddies?
> 
> Read on to find out! 
> 
> Oh, and about that Parson/Zimmermann/Bittle love triangle? Well, there's no hard evidence to support our theories about this _menage a trois_ on ice. Innocent until proven guilty, I suppose. Then again, we have obtained some pretty telling photos from the Samwell men's hockey team's Halloween party in 2014. Would they hold up in court? No. Did we print them anyways? Page 24.
> 
> Wellies forever,
> 
> ** Mackenzie Abingdon, editor-in-chief of  _The Swallow_ **

 

 

 

 

**Text from Shitty**  
  
did u guys read this shit???!!!??

**Text from Ransom**  
dude  
where have you been

**Text from Shitty**  
law school is fucking hard okay??

**Text from Holster**  
we thought you died  
we had a memorial service in your honor

**Text from Ransom**  
adam cried

**Text from Holster**  
shut the fuck up  
justin

**Text from Shitty**  
i text lardo every fucking day do you guys not talk to your roommate??

**Text from Lardo**  
and that's the way i like it

**Text from Shitty**  
okay well anyways  
@Jack  
@Bitty  
don't read the latest issue of the swallow

**Text from Bitty**  
wasn't planning on it

**Text from Holster**  
shitty why are you reading the swallow  
have you no journalistic standards???

**Text from Shitty**  
i follow them on facebook  
i like to count how many times they mention jack's ass in each issue

**Text from Lardo**  
he graduated like two years ago?

**Text from Shitty**  
well they're still going at it

**Text from Ransom**  
what's the verdict for this issue

**Text from Shitty**  
well

**Text from Ransom**  
??

**Text from Shitty**  
this issue was a lot more about  
how can i phrase this politely  
his love wand

**Text from Holster**  
sorry that was too polite i didn't understand

**Text from Ransom**  
well i have to read it now

**Text from Shitty**  
so sorry @Holster let me rephrase so you can understand  
the article spits mad verses about the size of jack's dick

**Text from Bitty**  
please stop

**Text from Holster**  
that actually wasn't polite enough  
still not getting it

**Text from Shitty**  
penis

**Text from Holster**  
AH thank you comrade

**Text from Ransom**  
@Shitty i was going to chirp you for saying mad verses, but i just read it and you're not fucking wrong my man  
they are guesstimating length in sonnets

**Text from Lardo**  
you guys talk about jack's dick way too much to all be straight

**Text from Shitty**  
i would deepthroat my son in a heartbeat

**Text from Lardo**  
i'd like you to reread that text and see where you went wrong

**Text from Shitty**  
ur right  
*with his consent

**Text from Ransom**  
shitty sucks his son's dick, new chat name

**Text from Shitty**  
i'm okay with this

**Text from Bitty**  
i am not

**Text from Holster**  
@Bitty the article estimates jack's erect penis to be Thicc  
can you confirm or deny these accusations 

**Text from Bitty**  
good lord does it really say that???

**Text from Ransom**  


**Text from Lardo**  
how is it possible that samwell's journalism program is ranked #2 for small colleges in the northeast

**Text from Ransom**  
to be fair to the swallow, you can see jack's entire business in those spandex daisy dukes

**Text from Holster**  
so whats the truth Eric

**Text from Bitty**  
you've all seen it

**Text from Holster**  
well  
not erect

**Text from Ransom**  
;)

**Text from Shitty**  
speak for yourself

**Text from Holster**  
have you and jack actually fucked because i thought you were joking when you started talking about his dick but that was three years ago and you haven't shut up about it

**Text from Ransom**  
@Bitty can you confirm or deny that shitty and jack have made whoopie

**Text from Bitty**  
anyways SMH is on a winning streak  
in case anyone cares about that

**Text from Holster**  
no i really just want to hear about jack's penis

**Text from Ransom**  
@Bitty can you sit and spin 

**Text from Bitty**  
bye

**Text from Lardo**  
excuse me what

**Text from Ransom**  
never mind, none of you rubes listen to MBMAM

**Text from Holster**  
i got the ref bro

**Text from Ransom**  
thanks bro

**Text from Lardo**  
was that another niche podcast reference?  
is this why all of your coworkers hate you?

**Text from Shitty**  
@Ransom @Holster can you confirm or deny that you two have banged dongs

**Text from Ransom**  
these days... who hasn't banged dogs?  
*dongs  
dogs are cool too though

**Text from Lardo**  
not for banging

**Text from Ransom**  
just to clarify, I Am Not Into Bestiality 

**Text from Bitty**  
also that was a heteronormative assumption about our sex life

**Text from Holster**  
are you telling me jack zimmermann is a bottom

**Text from Ransom**  
no i think he's a forward

**Text from Holster**  
BRO

**Text from Lardo**  
bitty why are we friends with these people?

**Text from Bitty**  
i don't know

**Text from Ransom**  
@Jack we love you no matter how you like your dick

**Text from Shitty**  
@Bitty ask jack to provide us with his exact dick length  
it's for science

**Text from Bitty**  
ask him yourself  
he can't answer your texts any slower than he answers mine  
@Jack hi honey

**Text from Shitty**  
HOLY SHIT ERIC BITTLE

**Text from Ransom**  
@Jack your boyfriend just set you on FIRE in this group chat!

**Text from Shitty**  
@Jack answer his damn texts son!!

**Text from Holster**  
wait  
@Shitty   
you failed to mention that this article is alleging a threeway between jack bitty and you know who

**Text from Bitty**  
i'm actually leaving now

 

**Text from Bitty  
** don't read the group chat

**Text from Jack  
** Why?

**Text from Bitty**  
just don't

**Text from Jack**  
okay

 

**Text from Bitty  
** you could at least turn your read receipts off

**Text from Jack  
** My what?

**Text from Bitty**  
it shows when you've read a message  
i can see that you read the group chat

**Text from Jack**  
I was curious  
Why didn't you want me to read it?

**Text from Bitty**  
i just didn't want you get upset  
but do you think he's officially coming out?

**Text from Jack**  
I don't want to talk about him 

**Text from Bitty  
** i told you not to read it  
i knew you'd be upset v 

 

 

**Text from Jack**  
Sorry  
On my way to the game   
I'll call you later

**Text from Bitty**  
ok

 

**Text from Bitty**  
sorry for being a busybody   
i know i shouldn't have asked   
but i feel like you've been keeping your feelings from me lately  
i just want to make sure that you're okay and you know that you can talk to me  
i worry about you a lot jack  
and i feel like we haven't been on the same page in a long time  
i know i was a lot to handle last semester but i'm doing better  
so i'd like to hear your voice every now and then  
make sure you call me later

 

**Text from Bitty**  
jack you said you'd call me

 

 

 

 

The Falconers lose in Boston, then again in Seattle. They lose four home games in a row, and Jack buys a bottle of whiskey.

 

 

 

 

**Text from Bitty**  
saw the game last night. you did good sweetheart  
sorry about the loss  
call me

 

 

 

 

**Text from Bitty**  
jack im worried about you  
call me

 

 

 

 

**Text from Bitty**  
hi it's valentines day  
i got a present in the mail from my imaginary boyfriend  
this is a wet dream i had in 10th grade 

**Text from Jack  
** Hi  
Do you want to come up this weekend

**Text from Bitty**  
lord he lives!!!

**Text from Jack**  
Haha what?

**Text from Bitty**  
where have you been honey??  
ive been texting you for days

**Text from Jack**  
Sorry  
I'm okay

**Text from Bitty**  
but??

**Text from Jack**  
???  
No buts. Just busy

**Text from Bitty**  
so am i sweetheart  
but i need to hear from you

**Text from Jack**  
Sorry

**Text from Bitty**  
i almost called your mom

**Text from Jack**  
Don't do that

**Text from Bitty**  
jack i hadn't heard from you in almost a week

**Text from Jack**  
I was on TV

**Text from Bitty**  
i know but your team has had it rough  
and you tend to retreat   
i wanted to make sure that you were doing okay

**Text from Jack**  
I know I'm sorry  
But you don't need to do that

**Text from Bitty**  
:|

**Text from Jack**  
What

**Text from Bitty**  
you need someone looking out for you honey  
i know you have bad days sometimes but you can't just disappear 

**Text from Jack**  
I'm sorry  
Just don't call my mom for me  
Please

**Text from Bitty**  
i'm just worried about you

**Text from Jack**  
So do you want to come up this weekend?

**Text from Bitty**  
we have a game

**Text from Jack**  
Home or away?  
I can be there

**Text from Bitty**  
at Quinnipiac  
don't come all that way  
stay with your team

**Text from Jack**  
Sorry  
Wish I could have seen you for Valentines

**Text from Bitty**  
speaking of that...

**Text from Jack**  
Happy Valentines Day

**Text from Bitty**  
happy valentines day <3

**Text from Jack**  
I'll send flowers to your game at Quinnipiac

**Text from Bitty**  
Omg do not

**Text from Jack**  
Haha

**Text from Bitty**  
call me soon honey  
i want to hear your voice

**Text from Jack**  
Okay   
Gotta go. Practice

**Text from Bitty**  
i mean it jack  
i will fill your voicemail if you do not answer

**Text from Jack**  
Okay

**Text from Bitty**  
okay  
bye <3

 

 

 

 

Spring comes with no fanfare of warm breezes and blooming trees. Providence gets snow in mid-March, and Jack spends his morning runs chugging through the leftover slurry on the streets. The world is dark when he wakes and dark when he goes down. He's used to winter, but there is something about the cold and dark that unsettles him this season. He can feel the remnants of winter chipping away at him. He wishes he could feel warm again.

The bottle of whiskey sits unopened beneath his kitchen sink. He puts it there to remind himself, or to make himself forget. Either way, that's where it belongs, shuffled between the window cleaner and extra dish soap. 

Games become double-edged. Jack's celebrity has faded since his coming out, since his outburst in Nashville; with nothing left to say about him, people are losing interest. A few dedicated fans bring rainbow flags to every games, and a dedicated fewer still spit fire on Twitter. But as the season wears on and the playoffs draw nearer, the hockey world thinks about hockey, and only hockey. 

For once, or at least the first time in a long time, Jack feels a weight off his shoulders. He makes it through games without taunts or dirty checks. He scores again. The guys move around him like they used to, like they have forgotten about everything else that happened before. They're a team and they're here to play together. Practices are smooth again, good again, and they're working together again.

They're still losing.

For all the good they're doing now, they have a lot of good to make up. They started the season high on last year's wins, but it got the best of them. Then Nashville, then a hard winter. Jack knows they all felt it, the unsteady balance of trust constantly on the edge. The worry, the wonder.

They had some early successes, a few lucky nights, but by and large, their splintered team has wrecked their chances of making it to the playoffs now. It would take more than a miracle for them to catch up.

They lose to Parse's hat trick in Las Vegas, to Parse's fans screaming in the stadium. When Jack finally stumbles home to his apartment, he answers a voicemail from Bittle.

"Hey," is all Jack says, because he's tired and he aches but he promised he would call. 

"Hi, honey," Bittle says. "Sorry about the game last night."

"Did you watch?"

Bittle hesitates. "No," he says after a second. "I was out with friends."

He doesn't give names, and Jack doesn't ask. 

"I didn't say this in my voicemail," Bittle says, "but I need a favor."

"It's not a favor, Bits. I'm your boyfriend."

"It's still a favor. You don't even know what it is."

"Well, tell me then."

"I have an interview at Brown," Bitty says. "Can you- I mean, I can get there by myself if you're busy, but if you're not, would you mind taking me?"

Jack drops his keys on the counter. "Bud, that's great."

"Thanks."

"When is it?"

"Friday morning," Bitty says. "I can take an early train and we can get lunch after?"

"You could come Thursday night," Jack offers.

"I can't," Bittle bites back. "I have a presentation in my six o'clock class."

"Oh, right."

Jack remembers hearing about that class the last time they talked. Gender in American Film, or something like that.

He rubs his eyes, leaning forward on the couch. “Sorry, Bits. I’m tired.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart.”

“I can pick you up in the morning.”

“I can switch to a phone interview if it’s too much trouble." 

“No, no, it’s not. It’s better to interview in person anyways.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Bitty is quiet for a moment, pensive on the other end.

Jack asks, "Are you interviewing with the head coach?"

"...what?"

“You said you were looking at assistant coaching jobs,” Jack says. “Isn’t that what this is for?”

“No,” Bitty says. “It’s an admissions job. I told you, I’m looking at admissions too.”

Jack doesn’t remember that. He can hear the disdain in Bittle’s voice.

“I guess you did,” he says. “I’m sorry, baby, I’ve been busy.”

_Baby_ slips out unintentionally, and he thinks Bittle can tell. There’s another moment of bristling silence, and then Bitty sighs.

“I won’t get the job anyways,” he says. “I just thought it would be good practice to interview." 

“You don’t know that,” Jack says.

“I would never have gotten into Brown. How can I tell other kids if they’re qualified or not?”

“You’d make a good recruiter,” Jack says. “You’re personable, and persuasive when you want to be. You recruited half the Samwell hockey team.”

“I think I could do admissions,” Bitty says. “I mean, I think I’d enjoy it. I’m just not good enough for Brown.”

“Providence is a college town,” Jack says. “You can find something else.”

He hears Bitty take a breath. For a moment, he thinks that something else is coming and he worries that he’s forgotten another thing. Then Bitty lets out the breath in a soft, whistling sigh.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll find something, sweetheart.”

Jack hears shuffling in the background. “Where are you?”

“Holed up in a study room in the library, working on my thesis.”

“How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

“Well, that’s good.” 

“Listen, Jack, are you sure you’re good for Friday?”

“Yeah, Bits, just text me when your train gets in and I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay. See you then. Go get some sleep, honey.”

“See you Friday, Bits.”

The Falconers win one game, lose the next. 

Bitty’s quiet at lunch on Friday when Jack asks about his interview, so he stops asking. They finish their meals in silence, and Bitty kisses him goodbye at the train station. Jack goes home alone.

In their next home game, Jack makes a third-period goal that should be their saving grace. Then the Aeros slam two points in the last five minutes, and Jack remembers the whiskey bottle under his kitchen sink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Text from Jack**  
Hey babe  
Baby  
Bitty you up

**Text from Bitty**  
who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend??

**Text from Jack**  
Haha  
Im a little duck  
Drunk so

**Text from Bitty**  
are you ok?

**Text from Jack**  
yeah  
Went out with Tater

**Text from Bitty**  
you don't normally drink during the season

**Text from Jack**  
I know its stress  
Hockey is stressful

**Text from Bitty**  
i know, i also play hockey

**Text from Jack**  
NHL  
were losing anyways

**Text from Bitty**  
honey do you need something?  
i'm working on a paper that i have to finish

**Text from Jack**  
its 2 am

**Text from Bitty**  
my paper's due at 9  
i need to finish it 

**Text from Jack**  
Im thinking about you

**Text from Bitty**  
that's sweet but i need to get back to work  
i'll text you in the morning to make sure you're not too hungover

**Text from Jack**  
little late for that   
Im thinking about you   
You know

**Text from Bitty**  
jack i'm not in the mood for this

**Text from Jack**  
Come on bitt bits  
I miss you so much

**Text from Bitty**  
am i supposed to be flattered that ur jerking off to me while drunk???

**Text from Jack**  
No  
Maybe

**Text from Bitty**  
i have to get back to work  
drink some water and go to bed

**Text from Jack**  
i love you 

 

 

 

 

"You have to hold onto your standing now, Jack," Bob tells him over the phone. "Crush these next two games, and you're in the playoffs. Just barely, but still in."

Jack rubs his forehead. "You think I don't know that? I know that, Papa."

"I'm just reminding you. You've really lost focus these last couple of weeks. You're still scoring goals, but you've gotten sloppy on the ice and you're wearing yourself out. At that presser the other day, you looked like you'd been hit by a truck."

"I'm just tired, Papa."

"You're in your second year, Jack. You can't afford to be tired."

"Papa, you said you wouldn't start this shit again."

"What shit? I'm not starting anything, I'm trying to tell you-"

"You always do this," Jack exclaims, and he wishes he had the energy to argue more. "I have to go, Papa."

"Swear at me all you want, but you be nice to your mother. She went all the way down there just to see you play."

"I know," Jack says. "I gotta go now." 

Jack doesn't hope for a win that night, because he knows how it feels to be let down. He doesn't think about another sweeping playoffs round, another incredible victory, another best night of his life. He focuses on the game instead. He rationalizes how they can pull this off. Maybe if he-

He takes a hit at the end of the first period.

"Looks like a fractured collarbone," the trainer says. "Maybe broken. He needs a hospital."

Jack doesn't remember walking off the ice. He doesn't remember getting hit hard enough to break a bone, but he heard the stadium fall silent just before he passed out. He can't feel his left arm. He thinks he's going to vomit.

"Possible concussion," the trainer says.

"Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine, but he's out."

"Zimmermann," someone says, a hand on his good shoulder. "How you feelin', man?"

Jack's head rolls forward. "I'm gonna be sick."

He dreams that he throws up on Marty's skates and cries like a baby when his mom drives him home from the hospital. He wakes up in his apartment, a pain throbbing through his left shoulder, and he realizes he wasn't dreaming at all. When he shuffles out of bed, he finds a purple bruise bleeding out of his sling. His arm feels like dead weight, and he thinks he might vomit again.

He looks for his phone; instead, he finds his mom in the kitchen, brewing a pot of tea.

"Oh, Jack, baby," she says when she sees him. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"I can't find my phone," he mutters.

She guides him to the couch and wraps him in a blanket. Then she comes back with two mugs of tea, and she sits close to him, just like she used to.

"You're on a screen diet," she says. "No screens for those concussed eyes."

"Maman," Jack says, louder than he means to.

Alicia's face falls. "They lost, baby. I'm sorry."

Jack looks at her. "There's still one more game."

"That's right, baby, one more game."

"I'm out," Jack mutters miserably, falling against her shoulder.

She kisses his forehead. "I'm sorry, Jack." 

He sleeps into the afternoon, pressed against his mother’s shoulder on the couch; at some point, she gets up and resettles him in the pillows, another blanket draped over his body. Jack’s shoulder throbs, but he ignores it. Too much of him is hurting. His head lulls through dizzy spells. His muscles whine like they might burst. Nerves shoot through his fingers when he wags his hand. He goes back to sleep.

Jack wakes at sunset with Bittle’s hands in his hair.

“Hey, there,” Bitty whispers. “How you feelin’, sweetpea?”

“Bits,” Jack murmurs. “We’re gonna lose.”

Bittle sighs. “Jack, honey, let’s get you back to bed.”

He guides Jack into the bedroom, an arm around his waist, and props him up in the bed. Jack lets Bittle fuss around him, moving blankets and ruffling sheets until he’s satisfied with his work; then Bittle curls up next to him, pressed against Jack’s uninjured shoulder, one hand set gently on Jack’s sling-bound arm.

“Your mama went out to get dinner,” Bitty says. “I was going to make my chicken soup, but she said you hadn’t been able to keep anything down today, and, well, that’s a lot of good work just to be tossed back up.”

“We’re going to lose,” Jack says. “We’re not going to make it to the playoffs.”

“Have some faith in your team, honey,” Bittle says. “You never know what’ll happen.”

“I won’t be able to play even if we make it to the playoffs.”

Bittle’s touch is irritating on the back of his hand, his skin still strange and numb. There are pain pills on the nightstand; he knows they won’t bother him, but the knot in his stomach is violent and anxious. His mother already tried, and he already refused.

“The Falcs still have a shot, Jack.”

“I won’t be there,” he snaps. “What’s the point?”

He digs his right hand out from under the pillows and shoves Bittle’s hand away.

Bitty frowns. He sits up right and levels Jack with a look.

“I know you’re just being a jerk because you’re injured,” he says, “so I’m going to pretend you didn’t mean to do that.”

“I don’t want you to touch me,” Jack mutters.

His head throbs.

“That’s fine, Jack,” Bitty says, pulling his arm away. “But you can just tell me.”

“I can’t say anything,” Jack mumbles. “You get so mad about nothing.”

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t have to come here because I got hurt. I know you don’t want to see me right now.”

“I don’t want to talk to you if you’re going to pick a fight.”

Bittle reaches for the prescription bottle.

“Have you taken any of these?” he asks.

“I’m not taking them.”

“It’s just Percocet, honey.”

“I don’t want any.”

“Stop being an ass and take one, Jack, your shoulder’s making you cranky.”

“No.”

“God.”

Bittle slaps the bottle back on the nightstand and it falls to the floor, rattling. “You’re driving me crazy. I don’t know if I can be here right now.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.”

“I know you didn’t, sweetheart,” Bitty snaps, “but I thought it might be a nice thing to do, to see how my boyfriend is feeling!”

Jack blinks at him through the low light, his vision swimming. “Is that what you’re mad about?”

“I’m not mad.”

“Jesus, Bittle, this is what I’m talking about-“

“Fine,” Bitty exclaims. “I’m mad. You haven’t called me in three weeks. You don’t answer my texts. I must’ve left you a dozen messages last night because I saw you get hit on TV and didn’t know what the hell had happened to you.”

“I’m not allowed to use screens-“

“That’s not the point, Jack, okay, you never reach out and you never listen. All you talk about is hockey and Providence and that’s it.”

“We talk about school,” Jack says.

“I talk about school,” Bittle snaps. “I talk about things and all you ever have to say is that it’s gonna be so great when we live here together, never mind the fact that I still have finals and I don’t have a job and I think I might fail one of my classes anyways, so-“

He stops suddenly, breathing hard, and he looks away.

“I’m out for the season,” Jack says after a moment. “I’m sorry if I’ve- Bittle, I know I’m not the best at keeping in touch, but maybe now we can take the time to-“

“Is this what it takes?” Bittle exclaims, glancing back to him. “You have to be bedridden and bored to bother listening to me?”

Jack frowns. “Bits-“

“You think you know what’s good for me, but you never ask me what I want.”

“I thought you wanted-“

“Maybe I don’t want to live in Providence,” Bittle exclaims. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about hockey for the rest of my life.”

He sits back on his heels, his gaze resting on Jack; after a moment, his face wrinkles and he looks down, eyes fixed on the bedspread. Jack shifts towards him, but his shoulder throbs; he sits back.

They both hear the front door open. For a moment, neither of them move.

“Your mama’s back,” Bitty says finally. “I think I’m gonna catch a late train.”

“We should talk,” Jack murmurs.

Bittle wipes his eyes. “Call me when you can use your phone again.”

The Falconers lose the next game, and the season ends.

 

 

 

 

Alicia flies home with the promise that Jack will take things easy while his collarbone heals. She leaves him with a fresh stack of library books, a fully stocked kitchen, and the suggestion that when he’s better, maybe he should get a dog.

“You spend so much time alone,” she says when he protests. “I don’t want you to get lonely.”

She doesn’t ask about Bittle. He walks her to the door and waves with his good hand as her cab pulls away. Then he goes back inside and tries to sleep.

Jack tries to take things easy.

But his phone is silent, and he can’t bear it anymore.

He calls Bittle.

“Are you free?” he asks after their sullen hellos.

“Are you ready to talk?” Bittle asks.

He sounds tired. Jack imagines him cross-legged on his bed, buried in textbooks.

“I think so,” Jack says, then, “Yeah.”

“Well…”

“I’m outside.”

“What?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Bittle’s face appears in the window of Chowder’s room (Jack’s room).

“Lord, Jack,” Bittle sighs.

“You said we needed to talk.”

Jack gives a half-wave with his sling bound hand, but his movements are tender and the gesture falters. Bittle stares at him from the window; he sighs and disappears.

“I didn’t mean for you to come all this way,” he says over the phone.

Jack can hear him padding down the stairs.

“It’s not that far.”

“It’s far enough,” Bittle says, then hangs up.

The front door swings ope. Bittle steps out onto the porch, his arms crossed over his Samwell sweatshirt. He’s wearing tiny mesh shorts and heavy purple bags under his eyes. Jack wants to pick him up and hold him, but he’s got one arm in a sling and Bittle gives him no invitation to come closer.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here, honey,” he says.

“I wanted to,” Jack says.

“Lord, Jack, did you drive yourself here? That doesn’t seem safe.”

“I thought we should do this in person.”

Bittle unfolds one arm to rub his tired eyes. “You’re not spending the night. I’ve got practice in the morning and a paper due at noon-“

“That’s fine,” Jack says. “I just came to talk.”

Bittle seems to wrestle with that for a moment. Then his shoulders relax and he steps into Jack, wrapping an easy arm around his waist. Bitty’s touch is so familiar, and he feels like home. But his hush is disconcerting; something about him is different, quiet, and Jack can’t figure out what.

“Come on,” Bitty says, leading him into the Haus. “Let’s talk.”

The last time Jack was here, he was welcomed at the door by old friends. Tonight, the Haus is quiet. They pass the living room on their way upstairs, and the only person Jack sees is someone he knows he has met, but he doesn’t recognize.

“Oh, Jack Zimmermann,” he says, nodding at them. “What’s up? Didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Neither did I,” Bitty says. He pulls away from Jack and grabs his good hand. “Come on.”

“Your room looks different,” Jack says when Bittle lets him in.

The walls are bare, the floor scattered with moving boxes. Bittle makes room on the bed, shoving aside textbooks and binders.

“Well,” he says, “you haven’t been here in a while.”

“You took down all your posters.”

“I’m packing,” Bitty says. He clambers onto the bed and sits back against the pillows, legs folded up beneath himself.

“You still have exams,” Jack says.

“I’m busy,” Bittle says. “I don’t know if I’ll have time once exams start.”

The empty bed is an invitation for him to sit down, but Jack lingers on his feet as Bitty watches him with a hooded gaze, fiddling with the blanket wrapped around his legs. He purses his lips, staring at Jack, then shakes his head.

“Come here,” Bittle says finally, beckoning him.

Jack perches on the bed awkwardly and scoots back until he hits the wall. Then he glances at Bittle, who is watching him expectantly, warily, and he sighs.

“Bits,” he starts. “I’m sorry.”

Bitty looks at him. “For what?”

“For acting like a dick,” Jack says bluntly. “And for- for yelling at you. And for not listening to what you want. I’m sorry if I…”

He trails off.

“I guess I thought we were on the same page,” Jack says. “After everything that’s happened, I just thought…”

“Honey,” Bitty says. “We haven’t been on the same page in a long time.”

“I know,” Jack says. “I’m sorry.”

Bittle rubs his eyes, pulling his knees up to his chest. Jack can see now in the lamplight that he’s exhausted, not just tired. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and judging by the amount of papers scattered across his desk, his bed, his floor, he probably hasn’t.

"I'm sorry, too," Bittle says. "For being overbearing the last time I was there."

His lips quirk, and he glances at Jack's sling. "I just worry about you," he says. "And I feel like-"

He cuts himself off with a small hm. Jack waits.

Bittle finishes, "I feel like you're not really listening to me. Or maybe you are, but it seems like I'm not getting through to you. I just feel like, I guess, that I'm living beside you sometimes, and not with you."

He glances up at Jack. "Do you know what I mean?"

Jack fidgets with his sling. "Yeah," he says, then, "No, I guess not."

"Things have changed for us, Jack," Bittle says. "I know it's hard to take that in, because we were so in sync last year. We've been in sync for a long time. But- I mean, coming out changed that. It changed how we interact with the world and with each other. And I feel like..."

He pauses again.

"I feel like we haven't been able to keep up with those changes," he says. "We're still trying to live like we were last year, but we're not those people anymore. This year's been really hard for both of us, and I don't think- I mean, I guess we haven't taken the time to reevaluate what we want from this relationship."

"Yeah," Jack says, glancing at Bittle. "I- yeah. I'm sorry. I guess I- you're right, I think. I'm just having a hard time understanding."

"Understanding what?" Bittle asks. "Me?"

"Just- understanding what you want," Jack says slowly. "I guess."

Bittle thinks on that for a second. "You mean, like," he starts, then stops.

"I mean, like, I don't know what you want me to do," Jack says. "Last semester, I knew you were having a hard time, but it just seemed like everything I did made it worse."

"I didn't want you to disappear, for one," Bittle says. "And I wasn't- I mean, I wasn't really mad at you, sweetheart, not really. There was just a lot happening and I felt like I wasn't doing enough to be a good boyfriend. It was all too much."

"So, where's the line?" Jack asks. "I just don't-"

He cuts himself off, his brow furrowed. "Sorry. It's just not clear to me."

"It's okay," Bitty says, sitting upright on his knees. "Jack, I'd rather you ask me what's going on than just ghost on me."

"Okay."

"I don't need to talk to you everyday if that's not something we can do, but I do need to know that you're okay. Sometimes you get really focused on something and you lose track of time, and I just worry about you, honey. I know you've had a hard season." 

"You don't need to worry about me," Jack says.

Bittle purses his lips. "But I do. I need to know how you're doing."

Jack rubs his forehead. "Okay. Okay, yeah, I- sorry, I just lose track of things sometimes."

"I know you do, honey."

"But I really- it's like you said, it's too much sometimes."

"If I'm being a bother, I need you to tell me," Bittle says. "Just tell me you need some space and I'll give it to you."

He scoots closer to Jack, a hand on his good shoulder. "But you have to tell me. When you vanish like that, it makes me worry." 

"Okay," Jack says. "I can work on that."

"Thank you, honey."

"But I-" Jack's jaw clenches. "I really don't need you to take care of me like that."

Bittle sits back. "Really?" 

Jack looks at him. "I can take care of myself."

"I thought we were going to be honest with each other," Bittle says. "You're going to like to me like that?"

Jack sits up from the wall. "I'm not lying, Bits, I'm just saying that-"

"I found the whiskey bottle," Bittle says.

Jack stares at him. "...what?"

"Jack, please," Bittle sighs. "When I came up to Providence, I found an empty whiskey bottle under your kitchen sink. What the hell was that doing there?" 

"Why were you looking under my sink?" 

"For paper towels because- that's not the point," Bittle exclaims. "You said- Jack, I know you're not stone cold sober and I don't expect you to be, but- honey, what am I supposed to think about an empty bottle you hid under the sink?"

"It's nothing, Bits, it's just-"

"You know you have an addictive personality."

"Not with alcohol."

"Maybe not yet."

Jack shuffles to the edge of the bed and throws his feet to the floor. "I don't know why you're cross-examining me over a damn whiskey bottle. It's nothing, alright, it's just a thing."

"Just a thing? That bottle wasn't there the last time, Jack."

"Fine," Jack says. "But it's not like I drank it all in one night."

"No," Bittle says, moving forward. "Just over a few nights, alone in your apartment, because that makes it better."

"Christ, Bittle, it's not that big of a deal."

"Jack, you don't even like drinking!"

"I just need to relax sometimes-"

"It's not relaxing if you have to lie about it. You lied to me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jack exclaims, getting to his feet.

Bittle follows.

"That night you texted me trying to hook up, you said you'd been out with Tater, but I know he doesn't go out that late in the season. That was just you, Jack, drunk and alone and-"

"Are you kidding me? That's your evidence?"

"I don't need evidence, Jack," Bittle exclaims. "I just need you to tell me the truth!"

"You're really coming after me like this? Like you've never had too much to drink?"

"I've never disappeared for two weeks and then binged a bottle of whiskey, no-"

"Christ, Bittle, everybody drinks, okay-"

"For fuck's sakes, Jack, I'm not asking for much. I love you and I just need to know that you're okay!"

"Fine," Jack says. "I lied." 

Bittle falls silent.

"Are you happy?" Jack exclaims. "Is that what you wanted to hear?" 

"I don't know why you're acting like this," Bittle says softly.

"Probably because I'm a fuck up," Jack says. "And an alcoholic now too, I guess. Are you fucking happy?" 

"You're not a fuck up, Jack," Bitty says, stepping closer. He puts his hands gingerly on Jack's arms, and he keeps them there when Jack doesn't jerk away. 

"And look," Bittle continues, "the- the alcohol, okay, that doesn't make me love you any less, honey. I'm sorry for coming after you like that, I just- I really just need you to be honest with me. I worry about you so much, and so does your mama, and we just want-"

"Jesus Christ," Jack exclaims, jerking backwards. "You all just think I'm gonna do it again, don't you?"

"Sweetheart, that's not what-"

"I don't need a babysitter," Jack exclaims. "I fucked up once but I'm a god damn adult and-"

"You have a history."

"You don't know a god damn thing about my history," Jack yells. 

Bittle barely has time to flinch before the door bangs open. The guy from downstairs fills the doorway with his frame; he's staring directly at Jack.

"Time to go," he says. 

"Rocky, it's fine," Bittle says, holding out a hand. "I can handle myself."

Rocky backs off, but he doesn't leave.

Bittle turns to Jack. 

"I think you should go," he says.

Jack swallows the lump in his throat. 

"Don't call me," Bittle says. "I'll let you know when I'm ready to talk."

Jack leaves. In his rearview mirror, the Haus has never looked so small. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Text from Bitty**  
hi

**Text from Jack**  
Hey

**Text from Bitty**  
we should talk  
for real this time

**Text from Jack**  
Yes

**Text from Bitty**  
i think we should do this in person

**Text from Jack**  
Okay

**Text from Bitty**  
maybe it's better if I come to Providence  
i can meet you somewhere

**Text from Jack**  
Oh  
That's fine

**Text from Bitty**  
what?

**Text from Jack**  
You're graduating this week

**Text from Bitty**  
wait do you want to come?

**Text from Jack**  
Yes  
is that okay?

**Text from Bitty**  
i mean if you want

**Text from Jack**  
I do

**Text from Bitty**  
you really don't have to  
it's just graduation

Jack stares at that text for a long time, the clamor of summer carrying on around him. Eventually, he just finds Thirdy at the grill and hands over his phone. 

"What am I looking at?" Thirdy asks, brow furrowed. 

"He said I don't have to come to his graduation," Jack says. 

Thirdy glances at the phone again, then hands it back and resumes flipping burgers. "Yeah, I see that."

"Well, what does that mean?" Jack exclaims.  

"I think it means you don't have to go."

"Is that it?" Jack asks, staring at the message. The screen is hard to read beneath the summer sun, and he has to squint. "Doesn't it sound like he doesn't want me there?"

"I don't know, Jack," Thirdy says. "Is there any reason he wouldn't want you there?"

Jack swallows. "Yes."

When he doesn't say more, Thirdy sighs.

"Look, Jack, you can't go on playing games like this. You've got to be honest with each other."

"We are."

"Then why are you cross-examining him? Just call him and ask him what he wants."

Jack scrolls back through the short conversation. "He doesn't want to hear from me."

"You used to be crazy about that kid. What's going on?"

"I am," Jack mutters, trying to peck out an adequate response. "We're just figuring things out."

Carrie appears at Thirdy's side, a stack of plates in her harms, and she glances sideways at Jack after she sets them down near the grill.

"Which one of you stormed out?" she asks.

Jack looks up. "What?"

"Sounds like you had a fight," Carrie says, cocking her head. "No fight like that ends without someone slamming a door."

Jack feels the lump in his throat. "He... asked me to leave."

Carrie's face falls. 

"No," Jack says, shaking his head. "Actually, he asked me to get my shit together and then he kicked me out. I know he's right, I know I haven't been a a very good boyfriend lately and I guess I have been drinking too much. And I know he's just worried about me but it's my fault that he's so stressed because he says I don't listen to him, and I thought I knew him so well but it turns out that I don't really know what's happening at all, except that I love him and miss him a lot."

He's only vaguely aware of when he starts shaking, and it takes him a few more seconds to realize that his words have turned to tears. 

"Let's go inside, hun," Carrie says, putting a hand on his arm. "A family picnic isn't the best place to have a breakdown." 

His phone buzzes while he's lying on the couch in the basement, wet stains drying on his face, and he manages to read Bittle's messages between shaky breaths. 

**Text from Bitty**  
don't come if you're busy  
it's a long way to drive for just a few hours

**Text from Jack**  
I'm not busy  
I don't have anything to do

**Text from Bitty**  
but you don't have to go out of your way  
it's just a stupid ceremony

**Text from Jack**  
It's your college graduation

**Text from Bitty**  
it's not a big deal  
i was going to come to providence to talk to you anyways

**Text from Jack**  
Do you want me there?

He waits for an answer. It takes a while.

**Text from Bitty**  
i don't want you to feel like you have to be there

**Text from Jack**  
But do you want me there?

**Text from Bitty**  
just come then if it's such a big deal to you

**Text from Jack**  
It should be a big deal to you

**Text from Bitty**  
i'm not exactly thrilled about my post grad life

"Oh," Jack says.

Thirdy stops halfway down the basement stairs, hands tucked in his pockets. He glances at Jakc with his eyebrows raised. 

"You alright, kid?"

"I'm fine," Jack says, sitting upright. "I'm fine, I don't know what got into me. Bittle's just upset because he hasn't found a job yet."

"You sure that's it?"

"He's still mad at me. But I think he's just nervous about graduating."

"He still moving out here with you?"

Jack stares at his phone. "Uh."

"That's what you said."

"I know," Jack says. "But he's, uh, I think he's making other plans. He's going home to Georgia first, and then..."

He trails off. Thirdy watches him.

"You two ready to do the long-distance thing for real?" 

Jack sets down his phone. "I don't know." 

 

 

 

 

The graduation ceremony is mercifully short, and Eric Bittle has the largest cheering section in the audience. His parents drove up from Georgia (they shake Jack's hand, Suzanne with tears in her eyes), and his friends come down from Boston: Ransom, Holster, Lardo, and Shitty, all packed into one car, stumbling back onto Samwell's campus just in time to holler as Bittle finally, gratefully receives his degree. 

Jack is there too.

There are muffled congratulations and flurries of tears and plenty of hugs. There are dozens of photos, Jack awkwardly posing the camera with his good arm before Lardo rolls her eyes and takes over for him. There are plans made for summer visits and holiday get-togethers, and then there are goodbyes. 

It wasn't so long ago that Jack found himself here; he wishes he could relive that day forever.

"Okay, I'm ready," Bitty says for the tenth time, wiping his eyes. He clutches his diploma in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other, and he staunchly turns his back as his friends depart together. 

"For real this time?" Suzanne asks. "You can take as long as you need, Dicky. We don't mind waiting."

"No, no, y'all've been waiting for me," Bitty says. "I've said goodbye and everything, I'm ready."

He glances up at Jack, eyes wide, as if he'd forgotten that he was there.

"Um," Bitty says. "Let's- Mama, can you take my diploma and stuff to the car?"

"Sure, honey. Your father's bringing it around now. We'll meet y'all back at the house?"

"Yes, Mama," Bitty says, waving her away. "See you soon."

He takes off his cap and smooths out the ruffles in his hair, then looks up at Jack and tries to smile. 

"Let's take a walk," he says.

Jack adjusts the camera hanging awkwardly from his good shoulder. "Aren't we going to lunch with your parents?"

"They're gonna pack the car," Bitty says. "Come on."

Bittle takes him to the lake. 

The walk is farther than Jack remembers, and they're both quiet on the way there. Bittle looks tired, his arms folded across his chest. Jack knows that he's been overwhelmed for months; it's been a long road for him to get here. He deserves a summer break more than anyone.

But he doesn't seem set on enjoying the view. He takes Jack around the trail for a bit, weaving under the trees in silence, the freshwater breeze blowing gently through their hair, until finally Bitty finds a quiet bench in the shade and beckons for Jack to sit with him.

"I haven't been out here in so long," Jack says. "Remember when we-"

"Oh Lord, please don't," Bittle says.

Jack falls silent, until Bittle looks up at him.

"You didn't have to come today," Bitty says.

"I wanted to be here," Jack says.

"I didn't want you here."

Jack pauses. "...oh."

"My mama likes you so much," Bitty says, looking across the lake. "I didn't want her to start going on about anything. And everyone else too, I knew they'd be excited to see you. I didn't want it to be a whole thing."

Jack waits for him to say something else, but Bittle simply sits in silence, staring across the water.

"You should have told me not to come," Jack says. "I thought- I would have stayed home."

"I know I should have," Bittle says. "God, I should have said so many things."

He glances up at Jack, his lips pursed. "I guess I'm not good at being clear, because it seems like I haven't been getting through to you."

Jack furrows his brow. "Bitty, about that night-"

"I've never heard you yell like that, Jack."

"I'm sorry," Jack says. "I'm trying to be better, but-"

"I know," Bittle says.

He clears his throat. "I mean, I know that's what you want, but I don't know if it's what I want."

Jack stares at him. "What?"

"You're just," Bittle starts, then stops.

He takes a breath and tries again. 

"You can be so wrapped up in your own world," he says. "Sometimes it's like you forget that I'm here. And I know that you've been had a hard year, with all the publicity and the playoffs and everything, and I'm sorry if I was doing something to make you feel stressed, but-"

He turns his face to the ground, leaning forward on the bench.

"It's been a hard year, Jack," Bittle says, and when his voice cracks, Jack realizes that he's crying.

"It's been such a hard year. My parents barely talked to me for six months, and I was just trying to be a good captain and a good student and finish my stupid degree, and you, you were-"

He heaves with a sob.

"You weren't there when I needed you," Bittle cries. "And I- Jack, I don't think I can do this anymore."

Jack's camera strap slides down his shoulder. He thought they might take some pictures out here by the lake, something to hang on his wall or keep by his nightstand. There's a family on the other side of the water, their graduate adjusting her cap as her parents ready the camera. He thought that might be them.

He thought.

"I'm sorry, Bits," Jack says.

"Sorry's not what I need."

"I know I've been an ass lately, but-"

"I can't live like this," Bittle says, wiping away tears. "I can't do this to myself."

"You want to," Jack says, then stops. "...you want to take a break?"

Bittle looks at him. "I want to break up."

Jack tries to think, but there's a lump in his throat that he can't swallow.

"You want to break up," he echoes.

Bittle purses his lips. "I think we should."

"Bits," Jack says. "Bitty."

"Jack, please."

"Is that what you want? Because-"

"It's what I need, Jack."

"We can work this out."

"Can we?" Bittle asks, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I- Jack, I love you, but it's been months since I've been happy. I think we need to-"

He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut as the tears continue to come. He sucks in a deep breath, then looks up at Jack.

"We can't do this forever," Bittle says, "so I think we should end it now."

"You didn't tell me you were unhappy," Jack says.

Bittle furrows his brow.

"I shouldn't have to tell you," he says. "I was just trying to love you, but you make it so god damn hard, Jack, and you- you never noticed that I was miserable? You never wondered what was going on?"

Jack tries to swallow the lump in his throat.

"I just thought," he starts, and Bittle shakes his head.

"Maybe it's my fault," he says. "But I need some space, Jack, some real space. I can't live under you anymore, so please, just... go."

Jack parked his car on the other side of campus, near the auditorium. Bittle had said there wouldn't be street parking by the Haus, but there would have been room somewhere. He wonders if anyone knew before he did. None of them said. 

The parking lot is empty by the time Jack gets to his car. There are leftover streamers on the pavement, someone's graduation cap stuck in a tree. He stands there for a long time, feeling empty, his hands shaking.

Finally, he gets in the car. He drives back to Providence, alone.

 

 

 

 

  **Providence Falconers** @falconersnhl   
Our guys loved hanging out with all the kids at the Providence Community Skate this weekend! Thank you to everyone who came out and spent some time with us on the ice.  


  **Gabe**  @gabe.heck    
@falconersnhl "came out"

  **(( ben ))** @outtamyleague   
@gabe.heck we're still doing this, really

 

  **badbobsballs**  
let zimmermann out of a sling 2k17

  **puckslut**  
# he looks dead inside in that twitter photo #universe please hear my prayers #let my poor boy just get back to playing hockey

the tags are real. honestly tho, hasn't it been long enough for his arm to heal? 

  **badbobsballs**  
broken collarbone is serious. but idk i'm not a doctor

  **puckslut**  
well they haven't said anything official about his injury so i'm hoping that's a good sign

  **badbobsballs**  
people have come back from worse 

 

 

 

 

Jack finds Georgia in the parking lot at sunrise.

"Finally out of that wretched sling," she says as she stretches. "Are you cleared to run?"

"Running's fine," Jack says. "Just running."

Their feet strike a familiar rhythm on the path as they run, drumming one-two against the ground in time. For a few minutes, that’s it: just running. Jack lets himself forget. The air is fresh and it tastes like the summer.

For a moment, he just exists, nothing more or less than a man striking his footsteps against the ground. He thinks about the past, and then he does not think at all.

Georgia’s breath brings him back from the brink.

“Jack,” she exclaims in a huff. “You’re good company, but the last time you came all the way out here to run with me, well, you really came out.”

“Ha,” Jack says. “I, uh, I have something else to tell you about Bittle.”

“Oh, yeah?”

She smiles at him over her shoulder; she looks so expectant that Jack nearly forgets what he’s trying to say.

“We broke up,” he says.

His shoes skid in the dirt when he loses Georgia.

He turns and finds her standing a few feet behind, bent in half, hands on her knees. She takes quick breaths, one, two, three, and then she glances up at him. She’s not smiling.

“Oh, Jack,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

When she stands up, she runs a hand over her face to push back any loose hairs, and then she becomes someone else. She approaches Jack, the light gone from her eyes, and stands across from him. They’re both breathing harder than they should be.

Jack doesn’t know what she wants him to say. He thinks that he should say something, elaborate, explain, tell her it’s all fine and they’ll get back together, that he’s doing okay and she doesn’t need to worry about him. Georgia stares at him, and she wants him to say all of those things.

Jack says nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Georgia says finally.

“Me too,” Jack says.

Summer breathes through the forest. They are not a quarter down the trail, but Jack thinks he’ll turn around and go home.

“I thought you should know,” he says.

“Yeah,” Georgia says. “Look- not to make this all business, but, well, we’ll have to talk about this.”

“I know.”

“On Monday,” she says. “With Tom and PR.”

“Okay.”

“I guess you’re not- look, it’s your life and how you present it is up to you. But people, I mean, the fans are interested in you and Bittle. There are people who need to know now, so we can be prepared for later.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I know.”

He grabs his shoulder and winces. “I’m gonna go,” he says. “I probably shouldn’t have come out here.”

“Jack- okay.”

“Thanks, Georgia.”

“Take it easy, Jack.”

 

 

 

 

He goes to a liquor store out of town and buys something potent. Then he goes home, abandons the bottle on the kitchen counter, and crawls into bed instead. 

He wastes the evening staring at the last photo he posted on Twitter, congratulating the Samwell Men's Hockey team for making it to the Frozen Four. The photo he used is an old one, taken back at the game in January, the only Samwell game he managed to make it to all season. Jack had thought they looked happy, their arms wrapped around each other, Bittle's head pressed against his shoulder; but he stares at their faces until the sun goes down, and he realizes now that they just look tired. 

Jack saves the photo to his phone. Then he deletes the post and purges everything.

 

 

 

 

  **hockeyybae**  
red alert jack zimmermann just deleted all twitter photos of his boyfriend 

  **badbobsballs**  
what?? when?

  **hockeyybae**  
i just noticed so idk. but he hasn't posted in a while anyways, so who knows when it happened. i hope this doesn't mean what we think it means 

  **puckslut**  
i mean the first step after a breakup is to wipe your social media clean so

  **badbobsballs**  
stop i can't think about that

  **badbobsballs**  
wait his instagram is untouched 

  **hockeyybae**  
he hasn't posted on instagram in months though  

  **puckslut**  
well if any of those photos disappear, then we know what's going down

 

 

 

 

  **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease   
Hey y'all, I know it's been a while! I'm remaking this account for personal reasons. It will be private and I'll only be accepting follows from people I know, at least for now. Thanks for understanding. 

  **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease   
@omgcheckplease This account name will be changed before I deactivate it, so I'll still be omgcheckplease! Just with a clean slate.

  **it's sarah** @sunflower.sarah    
@omgcheckplease is this good news to signal your triumphant return?? you've graduated now right? are you rebranding for the new college educated eric bittle???

  **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease   
@sunflower.sarah Maybe! I've got some plans in the works for the next couple months, so I'll just have to see what kind of free time I have. 

 

 

 

 

**Jack has left the chat.**

**Text from Holster**   **  
** dude what the hell  
is it because we talk about your penis too much  
no offense but that was a month ago so get your shit together zimerman  
zimmerman  
FUCK zimmermann***  
your last name is too hard to spell

**Text from Ransom**  
grandpa probably did it by mistake

**Text from Holster**  
"eric how do I send the little yellow faces???"

**Text from Bitty**  
it wasn't a mistake

**Text from Ransom**  
because he got the flip phone of his dreams?? 

**Text from Bitty  
** no

**Text from Holster**  
okay you're being cryptic and i don't like it

**Text from Ransom**  
wait is he actually mad at us??

**Text from Bitty**  
no  
we broke up

**Text from Holster**  
NO

**Text from Ransom**  
I TALKED TO YOU YESTERDAY AND YOU DIDNT SAY ANYTHING

**Text from Bitty**  
not much to say about it  
you didn't think it was weird that i'm living in georgia and not providence??

**Text from Holster**  
YOU MOVED BACK TO GEORGIA

**Text from Ransom  
** IM CALLING YOU RIGHT NOW ERIC BITTLE!!! 

**Text from Bitty**  
no please i'm at work

**Text from Holster**  
YOU GOT A JOB  
@Lardo @Shitty ARE YOU GUYS SLEEPING ON THIS

**Text from Bitty**  
@Ransom stop calling me, i'm not going to answer  
and i already told lardo

**Text from Holster**  
WHAT

**Text from Bitty**  
shitty knows too

**Text from Ransom**  
@Lardo i'm posting an ad for a new roommate

**Text from Holster**  
wait @Shitty have you talked to Jack  
does he just like not want to be friends with us anymore  
because we're still friends with bitty?

**Text from Bitty**  
i'm pretty sure he just doesn't want to be in this group chat  
i was going to leave if he didn't

**Text from Ransom**  
BITTLE

**Text from Bitty**  
spoiler alert it wasn't mutual  
this chat would have become very hostile very fast

**Text from Ransom**  
love is dead

**Text from Shitty**  
i have not heard from jack, to whoever asked  
but i did already know about this 

**Text from Holster**  
new plan, let's start a rival group chat that's exactly the same except we exclude bitty instead of jack 

**Text from Bitty**  
yeah ok just leave me out of your weird obsession with our relationship

**Text from Ransom**    
wait but like   
???????????

**Text from Bitty**  
what?

**Text from Ransom**  
what happened?  
we thought you guys were end game

**Text from Bitty**  
yikes

**Text from Holster**  
WHAT DO YOU MEAN YIKES  
WHAT DONT I KNOW

**Text from Bitty**  
never mind, i'm not talking about it  
have a good summer y'all

**Text from Ransom**  
BITTY WAIT

**Text from Holster**  
RIP

 

 

 

 

Jack has two missed calls and fifteen unread messages in the morning; he reads them with his forehead against the toilet seat, his stomach knotting, turning. His mouth is dry, and it runs drier. There's a voicemail from Shitty, another from his mom- then texts from his father, Lardo, Marty, Thirdy, Holster, and Ransom: invitations to dinner, to lunch, to come home for the summer and relax. 

He stows his phone with shaking hands and throws up again.

 

 

 

 

** INBOX ** _(6 unread)_

**Alicia Z.**  
change of plans for canada day

**Amazon.com**  
Your Amazon.com order of Canon EF 70-200...

**noreply@rhodeisland-aa.org**  
Thank you for joining our mailing list!

**Air Canada Reservations**  
Travel Advisory | Construction at Montréal–Pi...

**The New York Times**  
Today's Headlines

**bknight@law.harvard.edu**    
watch this moose video and send me a 10 pa...

 

 

 

 

It feels good to be back on the ice after being confined to a ling for so long. His plays are rusty, his movements still weak, but he finds his footing as soon as he hits the rink, and he's the last person off when the hour ends. These skates are optional, just a chance to keep in shape over the summer, but Jack intends to take full advantage of them. 

He lost ice time last season. He's stiff and out of shape. He needs something to do anyways, because without this breath of fresh air, he'll go home and be alone; and there, nothing is keeping him from the half-empty bottle of gin on his kitchen table. 

Jack will hide the bottle when he gets home. He knows what that looks like, but he's trying to be better. He knows this routine: the highs, the bargains, the downward spirals. He knows that now is the time to say something, now, before he spirals too far, before he loses sight of the other side. His parents would want him to say something, and his teammates too. Bittle wanted him to say something.

But sometimes, it feels better to forget.

"It's routine," Georgia says when they come off the ice. She herds Jack together with Marty and Thirdy, then starts down the long corridor.

"There's not a lot of reporters there," she says. "It's just a chance to talk about the draft and our plans for next season, reconciling last year's Cup win with this year's losses. It'll be nice to give the fans some reassurance, and Jack, to see that you're recovering from your injury."

She holds Jack at the door and lowers her voice.

"If anyone asks," Georgia says.

Jack's heart races, and she doesn't have to finish that sentence.

"Our focus should be on hockey," she says. "But you've been getting these questions all year, and like I said, people are interested."

He nods.

"It's up to you, Jack," Georgia says. "Whatever you want to tell them- we're behind you either way."

"Thanks," Jack says. "That's just- I mean, if they ask."

Georgia nods. "If they ask." 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

**Now **

* * *

 

 

 

 

The Aces win the Stanley Cup. 

Jack doesn't care. The Aces have won before and maybe he cared back then, but he tells himself that things are different now. He's better now, and there's noting to do but be happy for Vegas and start training to beat them next season.

"It was a good game," Georgia tells the press. "We're looking forward to facing off against them next year."

Jack hits the ice again, because it feels good to put his mind to something else. He doesn't care, until he sees a photo on Twitter of Kent Parson heaving the Stanley Cup over his head, wearing the same stupid smirk he's always had. 

Jack calls him.

"Well, well, well," Kent says over the phone. He pauses to take a long slurp of something. "Look who only cares about me once I take his cup from him. Always been kinda jealous, haven't you, Zimms?"

It's morning in Providence, the dim dark hours between midnight and dawn; it's night in Vegas, and Jack can tell that Kent is on the town, probably huddled in the back room of a club to muffle the bass, something strong swirling in his glass. He sounds drunk, but in the good, fun way that Jack has never managed to achieve. 

Jack imagines him grinding on the dance floor, taking someone home to see the Cup that he has undoubtedly placed front and center in his apartment. Jack hopes that his cat pisses in it. 

"Good game," is all he says, because it's dark and he's sober and he can't come up with anything better.

Kent snorts. "Good game? At least buy me dinner first."

"Fine," Jack says. "I didn't call to congratulate you."

"Then why did you call, Jack? Because I'm pretty damn busy, so if this is your lame attempt at a booty call-"

Kent's lame attempt at a booty call was showing up unannounced at Jack's college, yelling at him, insulting his team, fondling him through his shirt, and then disappearing without another word.

"Bittle and I broke up," Jack says.

That's generous, and he winces.

"He broke up with me," Jack says.

Kent pauses for just a second.

"I know," he says. "It was all over the news. Your fans are so disappointed. Well, some of the girls are pretty excited that you're not gay anymore."

"That doesn't even-" Jack stops. "It's none of their business."

"You made it their business when you sucked face on national television."

"Whatever," Jack says. "I don't even know why I called you."

"I do," Kent says.

Jack tenses. He listens, but all he hears is Kent's waiting breath, firm, steady, like he's testing how long Jack can bear to sit before he finally just-

"Someone told me," Kent says. "Well, it wasn't just someone, alright, it was my therapist, but she said it kind of off the clock, so I don't think it counted as actual therapeutic guidance. Just, like, something that's obvious to everyone but us."

Jack makes a mental note to double back on the therapy thing.

"You're looking for closure," Kent says. "Am I right?" 

Jack blinks. Is he?

"I'm right," Kent says, without giving him time to answer. "I mean, she's right. Our shit was so fucked up, Zimms, whatever we had, and it never even ended. We just, like, disappeared from each others' lives one day, and we've been hanging onto each other ever since. It's not fucking healthy."

"I'm not hanging onto you," Jack starts, but Kent cuts him off.

"Yeah, well, I've been hanging onto you. Because I know I never got any fucking closure. Last time I saw you, you were half-dead on a hotel bathroom floor, and then next thing I knew, you turned up at some hippie school in New England playing hockey for fun. I mean, what the hell, Jack?"

"I didn't," Jack says, then stops. "I mean, I couldn't handle a relationship-"

"We were friends first. The least you could have done was to call me back. I didn't even know if you were alive." 

"It was in the news-"

"I mean, I thought they had you strapped down in some freak hospital to keep you from bouncing too many Benadryls or something. I didn't know what the hell happened to you."

Jack sits in silence for a moment. He wonders if Kent is drunk, or just loose-tongued on therapy.

"I'm sorry," Jack finally says. "I didn't realize-"

"Yeah, I know you didn't," Kent exclaims. "Look, I don't really care about you and that twink-"

"His name is-"

"But you're really fucking bad at listening to other people, especially when they're trying to tell you things about yourself. You probably drove him away with your brick wall bullshit."

Jack doesn't know how to process that: not yet, at least. He takes a breath. "Okay."

Kent doesn't exactly sigh at him. Kent Parson doesn't sigh. But he does make some kind of exasperated, breathy sound, either a huff or a growl, or something else to accompany his eye roll.

"I should block your number," Kent says.

"Huh," Jack says. "I guess I wouldn't blame you."

"But I guess," Kent says, "that I should apologize too."

He sounds pissed. 

Jack asks, "Apologize for what?"

"Stop fucking around," Kent snaps, then stops. "Well, fine, I guess mainly for what happened at that game last year?"

Jack's brain has been numb since graduation, since the playoffs, and it takes him a minute to remember the game that Kent is talking about.

"When you rushed our goaltender?"

"Yes, asshole. Look, I was- like I said, I was hung up on you, I guess. Not you, particularly, but just, like, our whole thing. And I let my emotions get the better of me. So, I'm sorry."

"...that's what you're apologizing for?"

"And everything else," Kent adds. "I said sorry, can we just call this closure and move on with our lives?"

Jack rubs his eyes. "Yeah, I guess. Thanks, Kenny."

"You're welcome. Now, don't call me again, I'm having a fucking Cup party."

 

 

 

 

The pounding is at the door- not in his head. 

"Tater," Jack says when he finally opens the door. He rubs his forehead. "It's late."

"We go out tonight," Tater exclaims, throwing out his arms. He fills the doorway, a bright smile and all. "Yes?" 

Jack frowns. He's two hours deep in a rewatch of Planet Earth and he hasn't eaten since breakfast. He shouldn't go out tonight. He shouldn't go out at all. 

"I don't know if I'm in the mood," Jack says, holding onto the door as he contemplates feigning a yawn. "It's already late."

"It's summer," Tater exclaims. "Put pants on- you, me, new guys, we show them how Falcs do it!"

Jack has to remind himself that he chooses these people as his friends, the ones who show up at his door uninvited and drag him out to do normal things. It's a good thing, in the end, because he knows he would never drag himself out the door. He reminds himself as he gets dressed, Tater threatening to destroy something valuable in his kitchen unless he hurries up. The only thing valuable there is the mixer on the counter, and it's-... collecting dust. 

Maybe going out is a good idea.

The night is cool for the summer, but the bars aren't too crowded. There's good company too- a larger crowd that Tater promised, but good company all the same. Some of the Falcs claim the pool table in their favorite local joint and chirp Jack when he shows up, impressed that anyone managed to get him out of the house. They're being gentle with him, still, after a month, asking nothing about his personal life. But there are two new guys too, fresh draft picks who have been intimidated into sharing beers with their captains tonight, and they aren't so afraid to step on his toes. They look at him without pity in their eyes- fear, perhaps, maybe awe. But not sorrow. 

They could have played pool at his apartment, Jack wants to say after watching four games in a row. But he feels alive tonight. These are people who care about him, and that makes him feel real. 

Going out is a good idea until someone orders a round of shots and says, "C'mon, Zimmermann, don't be such a hardass tonight," and Jack takes the shot because he is bored and lonely and he knows how to act like a normal person when he's had a little to drink. Going out is a good idea until a little becomes a lot, and then someone blonde is holding his hand and touching his knee in the cab and letting herself into his apartment. 

He wants to make tonight a good idea, so he presses her against the wall and kisses her until she grabs a fistful of his shirt and drags him to the bedroom, shimmying out of her dress in the hallway. Shoes kicked off at the door, he lifts his shirt over his head and lets her sit him down on the bed.

She feels nice: a warm body pressed against him. She tells Jack she wants him to fuck her.

He thinks about it.

A minute later, he says, "I'm kind of drunk."

She kisses his neck. "So am I, babe."

Jack's mind buzzes. "No, I'm..."

She pulls back to look at him, a smirk still lingering on her lips. Her hands are laced around the back of his neck, her hips spread across his lap, and he can feel the stain of her lips on his skin.

"I'm too drunk," he says.

She glances down. 

"Oh," she says. "Ohh."

"But I'm having fun," he says as she stands. "We could just..."

"Yeah," she sighs, pushing a hand back through her hair. "I think I'm just gonna go."

She finds her dress in the hallway. Jack is lying still on the bed when she slams the front door.

 

 

 

 

Canada Day comes and goes. Jack spends the 4th of July on the ice, reveling silently in his solo practice time, a cold rush running through his veins. He makes his appearances at Falcs family barbecues: Marty’s, then Thirdy’s, then a brief stop at Guy’s house. He takes the high-piled plates pushed his way, holds out on the beer, then goes home alone and drowns the sound of fireworks with a documentary that he’s seen before. There’s nothing good on TV, and he falls asleep before midnight.

Bob picks him up at the airport that weekend; they turn a few heads, as always, but they make it back to the house unhindered. Jack steps over the familiar threshold and drops his bag. It’s funny, now, how easy it is to breathe coming through this door. For years, he dreaded crossing that line, stepping into his parents’ house (his house) and knowing what waited for him: first it was endless noise- then, still silence, like the slightest note might set him off again.

Now, the house hums: not quiet, not loud. He still feels unsettled, drifting wearily through his childhood corridors, something uneasy having made its home inside him. But home is routine, and Jack settles in.

His mother hugs him, kisses him, pulls him inside. She manages to wait half an hour before she starts probing.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Alicia asks, as casual as possible.

She’s always been good at starting unwanted conversations. Jack catches it, but he’s too jaded to be mad at her for asking.

He shakes the last dregs of his smoothie. “I’ve had a couple of one night stands.”

Alicia’s knife smacks against the cutting board. “Jack.”

“Hm?”

“That’s not the kind of thing you tell your mother.”

“You asked.”

“I meant, are you dating anyone?”

“Obviously, no.”

Alicia takes that in stride, letting the exasperation ease off her face as she continues chopping vegetables for dinner. Jack can tell that this conversation is far from over, but he’s ready to let it go. He zones out, fidgeting with the straw in his smoothie cup, and he lets himself get caught off guard by her next question.

“Men or women?” Alicia asks.

Jack’s gaze flicks to her. “…what?”

“Your one night stands,” she says without looking up. “Were they men or women?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m just curious.”

He finishes his smoothie as obnoxiously as possible. “Mostly women, if it matters.”

“It doesn’t matter, Jack. I just want to know what’s going on in your life.”

“Want to know how many times I got them off too?”

“Jack Laurent,” Alicia exclaims, finally looking up. “Do not.”

“You’re the one asking me about sex.”

“I was asking you about dating. You’re not even interested in anyone right now?”

“Christ, Maman, no.”

“Don’t fucking swear at me.”

He sets his cup down. “Sorry.”

She’s quiet after that- but Alicia Zimmermann is never actually quiet. Jack knows, without looking at her, that her mind is running ahead of his, and he can barely stand the silence as he waits for her to ask the next pointed question.

He loves his mother. But there is always something on her mind.

“Just ask me,” Jack says finally.

She continues chopping. “It’s not a question.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Just a thought,” Alicia says. Her knife slices through a zucchini. “But you won’t like it.”

“Please don’t tell me that I need to start dating-“

“Not that,” she says, cutting him off. “Although-“

“Maman.”

“Never mind,” she sighs. “If you don’t like that, you really won’t like this.”

Jack feels his skin tingle. He watches her for a moment, wondering, and then it gets the better of him. “Fine, what is it?”

“I think you should find a therapist in Providence,” Alicia says.

She’s right. He doesn’t like that.

“I’m fine,” Jack says. “I’m… moving on.”

Alicia purses her lips.

“This isn’t just about Eric,” she says. The name lands casually on her tongue, as if they haven’t been avoiding the subject since he got here, since he called his parents in May and sobbed for an hour before he told them what happened.

“You’ve had a hard year,” Alicia says. “For a lot of reasons, and I know that you’re strong, baby, I know you can take of yourself. But I worry that you keep everything locked up inside. You need someone to talk to.”

Someone else, now that Bittle is gone.

Jack checked his Twitter page at the airport, hopped up on pre-flight anxiety and the paranoia of being stared at in public. His account is private now, his profile picture barely recognizable behind dark sunglasses. Jack hopes he’s happy.

“I have friends,” Jack says numbly, immediately aware of how stupid he sounds.

“Your college friends are in Boston,” Alicia says, setting the knife down. “And I know that you have a lot of good friends on your team, but I think you need someone with a bit of distance.”

“Like someone in Boston.”

She scrapes the zucchini into a bowl. “You know what I mean. Someone to talk to about things that are going on in your life, or things happening with hockey. Someone to bitch to.”

Jack pushes his empty cup aside. “A therapist isn’t a complaint box, Maman.”

“A therapist isn’t not a complaint box,” Alicia says. She reaches to drop the cutting board into the sink, then turns back to stare at him. “I don’t want you to feel isolated, Jack. You need someone.”

Not something, Jack thinks, and he wonders if she can see the tiny tremors in his hands. It’s been four days since his last drink, and he doesn’t know if he can do this alone.

“I’ll think about it,” he says. “But for now, uh, I guess I should tell you.”

 

 

 

 

**Text from Marty**  
Just asked. She’s interested if you are. Let me know when you get back in town

**Text from Jack**  
I don’t know about this

**Text from Thirdy**  
Good answer kid. Marty doesn’t know anyone your age.

**Text from Marty**  
She’s my second cousin. She’s 25

**Text from Thirdy**  
That’s even worse.

**Text from Jack**  
I’m just not sure I’m ready to date anyone

**Text from Marty**  
She’s getting her MA in archival science. You two would get along   
Just go on one date with her

**Text from Thirdy**  
Are you setting up your cousin as Jack’s rebound?

**Text from Marty**  
Jack’s not looking for a rebound  
She’s a good kid. And Quebecois. Give her a chance

**Text from Jack**  
I’m really not looking for anything

**Text from Thirdy**  
Carrie says you need a rebound.

**Text from Marty**  
Is Carrie offering?

**Text from Thirdy**  
Go fuck yourself

**Text from Jack**  
Thank you both but I’m really not ready to see anyone

**Text from Marty**  
Ok kid. But Camille is still interested in you change your mind

**Text from Jack**  
Her name’s not really Camille is it?

**Text from Marty**  
Yes. ? Why

**Text from Jack**  
I dated a Camilla

**Text from Marty**  
Well that’s bad luck

**Text from Thirdy**  
Carrie says she told you so.

 

 

 

 

 

The apartment he comes home to feels breathless. It’s tight, stuffed wall to wall with memories, each clearer in his mind than the last, and he stands by the front door for a long time, trying to pin down the ghost that runs the house.

Bittle’s touch is everywhere. Jack can feel him in the bed when he lies sleepless that night; in the morning, he swears he wakes to the sound of something bubbling on the stove. For a second, he smells pancakes.

But he’s alone. He is so alone in the crowded apartment, and it’s all he can do not to leave without looking back.

 

 

 

 

“It’s been a while,” Marius says.

Jack doesn’t think that’s meant to be pointed; it has been a while since their last conversation, but not without reason. He’s been away, occupied, at college, in the NHL, doing things with his life. Doing good things. Doing well.

The office wall behind Marius is familiar, but like he says, it’s been a while, and Jack feels distant, awkward, his image stuffed into the video chat frame, a pillow clutched to his lap as he sits on his couch, restless, anxious. His legs are sprawled out under the coffee table, too long. He scoots upright in his seat and tucks them in, as Marius waits in silence for a response.

“I know,” Jack says after a quiet moment. “But I’ve been okay.”

“That wasn’t meant to be accusatory, Jack,” Marius says. “All I meant to say is that I was surprised when you scheduled this appointment.”

They speak English, a strange stilted conversation. Jack wonders why he opened the call like that, good morning and all. He thought he’d outgrown this routine, maybe, these halting hours, and he doesn’t know how to reconcile with the past. He doesn’t know where to go.

He thinks Marius can read that on his face, and it makes him squirm in his seat.

“I haven’t really been doing okay,” Jack says. He forces the switch to Quebecois, and all at once, he feels more at ease. “I was, for a while. I graduated from college. I, uh, play for the Providence Falconers now.”

“I know,” Marius says, smiling. “You’ve been in the news.”

Jack shifts. “So… there’s that.”

“That,” Marius repeats. “Jack, I think I know what you’re talking about, but I don’t want to put words in your mouth.”

Whatever he’s thinking, he’s right. There’s more than just that.

“So, you know everything with my boyfriend,” Jack says. “My ex-boyfriend.”

“Of course, I don’t know everything.”

“But you know what happened,” Jack says. “We- I came out, I guess, publicly. The first NHL player. And it was- mostly, it was fine, but there were moments when it was rough. I took some shit for it, but all under the radar, things that the NHL couldn’t address. Or, wouldn’t.”

He takes a breath. “And then, I, uh- Bittle. Eric. He broke up with me.”

Marius’ video flickers. “When was that?”

It’s been 68 days.

“In May,” Jack says. “At his college graduation.”

“You say you haven’t been doing okay recently,” Marius says. “Do you mean since Eric ended your relationship?”

“Uh.”

“Or before that?”

“Before that, I guess,” Jack says. He fidgets with the pillow. “A long time before that. I guess-“

He cuts himself off, then starts again.

“At first, it seemed like coming out didn’t change anything,” Jack says. “We were- I mean, we were public, we were out, but things were the same. But I, uh, it was hard for Bittle- for Eric. His parents weren’t totally accepting from the start, and he was under a lot of pressure, and I guess, it took me too long to realize how hard things were for him, really.”

Marius gives a soft hmm.

“And I know I wasn’t there for him,” Jack says, “like I should have been. I was just- we weren’t doing well, the Falconers, and I thought Eric was okay. I thought we were okay. I thought we’d always be okay.”

He stares at the keyboard of his laptop, the screen blurring in his vision. “We stopped talking, for a while. And I think I started drinking.”

“You think?” Marius repeats.

“I mean,” Jack says. He rubs his forehead. “I just- I think I was using alcohol to cope. It was a distraction from everything. It made me forget, just for a while.”

He drops his hand. “It still does.”

“Jack,” Marius says. He leans forward, his face coming closer on the screen. “You seem to have a clear understanding of your behavior. I know you do- it’s something we worked on, learning to identify your patterns. And of course, hindsight is always clearer.

“We can circle back to this conversation,” he continues, “particularly the alcohol use, if that’s something you want to address. What I want to know now, however, is why you called me today.”

Marius looks at him. “What are you searching for, Jack?”

Jack remembers being eighteen and terrified of saying the wrong thing. He remembers the beads of sweat soaking his back when his hour in the office finally came to an end, the terror of forbidden admittances rolling from his tongue finally passed. It was between those walls he learned how to trust himself, and someone else. How to be okay with not being okay. How to ask for help.

He swallows the lump in his throat.

“I don’t know what to do now,” Jack says. “I guess- I don’t know how to move on.”

 

 

 

 

**Text from Shitty**  
i hate to be the asshole that does this via text  
but this internship is fucking killing me rn  
there’s a huge deposition tomorrow and somehow i am the one making all the copies  
i know i’m just a 3L lemming but damn   
i have a thousand paper cuts  
anyways jackababy i have an important question for you

**Text from Jack**  
As long as you never call me jackababy again

**Text from Shitty**  
jackalope?   
jackawackamole?

**Text from Jack**  
What happened to just jackabelle?

**Text from Shitty**  
that feels vintage now, like the relic of a precious era better left in the past

**Text from Jack**  
Ok  
What’s the question?

**Text from Shitty**  
will you Jack Fucking Zimmermann do me the honor of being my best man?

**Text from Jack**  
Yes of course   
I can’t believe you thought you had to ask

**Text from Shitty**  
thank god that was the most stressful five seconds of my life

**Text from Jack**  
So you and Lardo are actually setting a date?   
Congratulations

**Text from Shitty**  
our parents won’t abide this “unofficially engaged” nonsense any longer  
so yeah basically we’re being coerced into a wedding  
next june so don’t plan on winning the cup

**Text from Jack**  
Haha  
Something to look forward to at least   
  
**Text from Shitty**  
it’s gonna be the fucking party of the century  
everyone will be there  
lardo is trying to track down johnson so he can give us an existential fortune as a wedding gift  
dude’s not on facebook or linkedin or anything  
jack was he even real

**Text from Jack**  
Sounds like fun. It’ll be nice to see everyone again

**Text from Shitty**  
and not to make this special moment incredibly awkward or anything   
but bitty is going to be on lardo’s side of the wedding party  
just as a heads up for my bro  
bros before hoes am i right  
nope i’m wrong

**Text from Jack**  
It’ll be fine

**Text from Shitty**  
ok but if you want to have a throw down just know that lardo says it’s okay  
we’re kind of hoping the reception is a disaster anyways  
that’ll really teach my mom a lesson about making me do things “the proper way”

**Text from Jack**  
I think SMH can pull off a disaster without any pre-planning

**Text from Shitty**  
cool

**Text from Jack**  
Your reception hall might get burned down

**Text from Shitty**  
it’s all part of the lesson for mom

 

 

 

 

He forgets about the bottle of wine in his fridge until it’s too late. It was a gift from Georgia’s fiancee, pressed into his hands at the end of the night, a leftover bottle from their housewarming party. They couldn’t have known. How could they have known? Jack hasn’t said anything, and he couldn’t find the words to do it then, the nerves in his fingers shaking as he silently accepted the bottle.

He meant to get rid of it, pass it on as a gift to someone else, drop it somewhere else, anywhere else, because he has a new therapist and she’s warned him about the power of temptation. He shoved it in the back of his fridge until he found an excuse to get it out of his house, but he realizes, now, that was the excuse.

He forgets, and he feels lonely one late summer night, and then it’s too late.

“Sixteen minutes late, Zimmboni,” Tater exclaims, glancing at his phone. “Cat got your watch?”

Jack drops his bag onto the locker room floor. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not usually late.”

“We know,” Poots says from across the room. “We were taking bets on what happened to you.”

“What was it, Zimmermann?” someone else asks. “Let me guess- you stopped to help a kid find his lost puppy, then saved someone having a heart attack.”

Jack rubs his brow. “It wasn’t any of those things,” as if it would actually be any of those things, and a laugh rumbles through the room.

“Actually,” he says, and the room falls quiet, interests piqued, “I should probably just tell everyone. This is weird, but I’m, uh, I’m trying to stay sober. So, uh, please stop inviting me out for drinks.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Marty nods at him.

“Duly noted,” he says. “Thanks for telling us.”

Guy squints at him. “Is that why you brought a whole case of coconut La Croix to my barbecue?”

“Uh,” Jack says, outed. “Yeah.”

“Coconut?!” Tater echoes from across the room, grimacing. “Zimmboni- no.”

Thirdy finds him after practice.

“You didn’t have to do that in there, you know,” he says as he walks Jack out to his car. “I’m glad you said something, but, Jack, I hope you didn’t feel like you had to…-”

“Out myself?” Jack finishes for him.

Thirdy coughs. “I was trying not to use that phrase, but yeah, you know what I mean.”

“I didn’t,” Jack says. “Maybe a little. But I want the team to know. I’m-”

He cuts himself off, searching for the right words. Thirdy stops on the sidewalk, waiting for him, and finally Jack finishes his thought.

“I’m okay, honestly,” he says. “But I am- I’m trying, but I’m still struggling a little bit. And I just don’t want to have to hide anything. I don’t want to feel like I have to hide anything.”

He makes a mental note to recount this conversation to Shannon in therapy, partly because he used her exact words and he wants some brownie points. Mostly because he’s making a concerted effort to be better, and he feels good.

“I still have some things to deal with,” Jack says. “But I’m getting there.”

 

 

 

 

**To:** erbittle@samwell.edu  **  
From:** jlzimmermann@samwell.edu

Bittle, 

This is the only email address I have for you. I know this is weird so you don’t have to read this. You can just delete it if you want. I just have a lot of things that I never got to say to you and I need to get them off my chest. More than anything I need to apologize.

I’m sorry for the way things ended. I know that it’s my fault. I wasn’t being a good boyfriend or partner to you, and I let a lot of moments get away from us. I’m sorry for not listening like I should have. I’m sorry that you felt so alone last fall and that we never really got to talk about it. I feel like you swept a lot of things under the rug for my sake, trying to keep us together, but I should never have made you feel like you had to keep things inside. So I’m sorry.

I wanted to say also that I’m not angry with you. More than anything, I’m just sad that we weren’t able to work things out. I understand that you need your space and that you did what was best for you. I want you to know that.

Please don’t feel like you have to respond to this. You can seriously just delete it. I just needed to get all of this out. I’m trying to be better about working through my feelings.

Jack

 

**To:** jlzimmermann@samwell.edu   
**From:** erbittle@samwell.edu

Hi Jack

I don’t really know what to say except thank you for writing that. I don’t check this account that much anymore so I just saw this email. And what you said means a lot to me. I don’t know what else to say, except I wanted to tell you that I read this and I’m grateful. This is what I needed to hear.

Eric Bittle  
Class of 2017   
Samwell Men’s Hockey, Captain

 

**To:** erbittle@samwell.edu  **  
From:** jlzimmermann@samwell.edu

Eric,

Thank you for reading. You don’t have to respond to this, but I want you to know that I’m doing better. Looking forward to the new season.

Bye,  
Jack

 

**To:** jlzimmermann@samwell.edu   
**From:** erbittle@samwell.edu

Jack you don’t have to call me Eric, sorry I forgot to change my signature.

I’m happy for you. I’ll be watching, although I’m up north again, just moved to Boston for my new job so we’ll see who I end up rooting for. My commute’s not great and most of my paycheck goes to student loans but if I have time I’m going to think about joining a community league. Post college life is hard and pretty lonely.

Bittle

 

**To:** erbittle@samwell.edu  **  
From:** jlzimmermann@samwell.edu

Bittle,

Sorry, I didn’t realize. I thought you might be going by Eric now that you’ve got a real job and all that. You don’t have to respond to this, but I’m happy for you. Sounds like things are going well for you.

Jack

 

**To:** jlzimmermann@samwell.edu   
**From:** erbittle@samwell.edu

Jack, you don’t have to tell me not to respond. I’ll respond if I want to.

I don’t know if you know this but I never meant to hurt us. Or you. And what happened with us, the way things drifted apart, you know that it’s not all your fault. I stayed quiet for a long time before I finally decided to do something about it, and by then it was too late. There was a lot going on last year. I just had to take care of myself. I know that meant ending everything we had and I know that hurt both of us but it’s what I needed to do.

I hope you can understand that. And I hope we can learn to be friends again. At least for the sake of what’s bound to be the world’s craziest wedding.

Bitty

 

 

 

 

“Something interesting?” Georgia asks.

Jack glances up abruptly and tucks his phone away. He has the feeling that she’s been watching him, waiting for him to notice her standing there.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just an email.”

“I wish I got emails that enticing,” Georgia says.

She says that like she knows exactly what he was reading.

“Not enticing, exactly,” Jack says. “But… something good.”

Georgia smiles. “Good. Now, stop wasting time talking to me. Get out there and play.”

 

 

 

 

#### Falconers win first home game against Islanders with Zimmermann’s hat trick

_Katie Stankiewicz, sports contributor_

> The Providence Falconers’ first home game of the 2017-2018 season opened with a tough battle for control of the puck. The Islanders’ forward Patterson (#32) scored twice at the end of the first period, with assists from Blakely (#12) and O’Brien (#9).
> 
> The Falconers returned to the ice with a vengeance, keeping a tight grip on the puck as they evaded the opposing offense, and led the game to a tied score at the end of the second period. The struggle for victory continued well into the last twenty minutes. For a moment, it seemed that overtime was imminent.
> 
> But the 2016 Stanley Cup Champions were not ready to give up yet. With eight minutes to spare, Falconers’ alternate captain Zimmermann (#1) performed two incredible goals against the Islanders’ goaltender, bringing his game total up to three, and the end score to 4-2.
> 
> In a post-game interview, Zimmermann remained modest.
> 
> “We’ve really grown as a team,” he said. “We’re looking forward to getting out there this season and really proving ourselves.”
> 
> The teamwork displayed by the Falconers led to a victorious first home game and prompted speculation from fans about the team’s role this year. After a turbulent season in 2016-2017, ending with a devastating missed shot at the playoffs, some though the Falconers would struggle to regain their footing on the ice. But if Thursday night’s game is to be judged, it seems the Falconers are ready to play as strong as ever- if not stronger.

  **notapuckbunny**  
wow ok can i just say that i’m so happy for the falconers right now? i know it’s just the beginning of the season and there’s a lot of time for things to change but they’ve been playing so amazing and i just feel like their team has grown so much. so proud of them honestly

  **imonlyhereforhockey**  
im so happy for them!! its nice to support a winning team again lol

  **zimmermom**  
Hear, hear! Like many fans, I will always love and support the Falconers, no matter what, but it’s clear that they trained diligently this summer to be where they are now. They have a unity on the ice that I haven’t seen in a long time, and even when they lose, they seem to take it in stride and learn from their mistakes. I think this season will be one of the strongest we have ever seen from this team.

  **mashkovisawesome**  
So proud to be a Falcs fan right now!

 

  **badbobsballs**  
y’all think jenny vang creamed herself when zimmermann and parson shook hands last night after the game in vegas

  **puckslut**  
dude did you know she got fired from buzzfeed

  **badbobsballs**  
WHAT i can’t tell if that’s a step in the right direction for buzzfeed or just part of the inevitable turn of the wheel because they fire everyone eventually

  **puckslut**  
apparently she said something racist on twitter in like 2012 so

  **badbobsballs**  
oh well that’s both disappointing and unsurprising. i kind of wanted her to be fired for being a terrible reporter

  **puckslut**  
i wanted her to be fired because buzzfeed has no business writing about sports, but this is okay too i guess

  **badbobsballs**  
and with her departure it’s officially time for the press to # leavejackzimmermannalone

 

  **((ben))**  @outtamyleague   
finally, some delicious fucking wins for the falcs

  **((ben))** @outtamyleague   
@outtamyleague alexei mashkov just liked this tweet, so there’s that i guess

 

 

 

 

Autumn arrives in Providence, and Jack changes his running route. The new path takes him through a narrow brick street lined with full trees; the orange leaves rustle overhead as he runs. Around the corner, he passes the canal, the pond, then circles back to the park to stretch on a bench near the playground. It’s Monday and the air bites his face. A woman stands by the swing set, pushing her toddler; Jack recognizes her, a neighbor on his new street, and he waves back when she playfully raises her daughter’s hand at him.

He lives farther out now. The neighborhood is quiet, rows of thin brick houses and stone porches with wrought iron railings. His townhouse is quiet too, a few moving boxes still stacked in the corners; but he’s managed to fill the bookshelf in his living room, and it’s where he spends most afternoons, peaceful, the low autumn sunlight streaming through the window.

Jack’s bent over, reaching for his toes, when his phone rings abruptly, and he stands up straight, digging into his pocket to find it.

“Hello?” he answers. “It’s early for you, isn’t it?”

“I’m old, remember?” Bob says on the other end, his voice slightly muffled. “I wake up at dawn, have dinner at 4:30, that kind of shit. Did you get the package?”

Jack glances down at his feet. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Your mother wants to know what you think.”

“Well-“

“Before you say anything, you should know that she’s making fun of you. She thought you would never go that far.”

Jack stares at the neon pink sneakers he’s wearing. “Huh.”

“…you have them on right now, don’t you?”

“I don’t mind them,” he says, lifting his toes to get a better look at the color. He doesn’t need to. It’s fucking blinding.

“I knew she was underestimating your sensibilities. You’d wear anything.”

“You once wore a denim jacket to a charity gala.”

“Well,” Bob says loudly, nearly cutting him off. “You’ll have to bring the shoes next weekend when you get your ass kicked by the Habs. She won’t believe me if she doesn’t see you in them.”

Something crashes on the other end of the line, and Jack winces.

“Sorry, that was the Christmas tree,” Bob exclaims gruffly after a moment. “Damn thing just fell on top of me.”

“It’s barely November,” Jack says. “You’re decorating?”

“I haven’t got anything else to do. Gotta get everything ready for you to set up when you’re here on Saturday.”

“Great,” Jack says, turning to face the bench. He lifts one foot and presses it up against the stone, stretching his calf. “That’s exactly what I was looking forward to about coming home.”

“Ha.”

There’s a moment of silence- not silence, exactly, because Bob continues to wrestle with the tree, swearing under his breath- and Jack stares across the playground, the cold wind blowing across his face. He switches legs, pressing the other foot up against the bench. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, Bob does it first.

“You’re doing okay, aren’t you, Jack?” Bob asks.

His voice is clearer, not muffled by the tree, and he holds for a still moment before continuing.

“I know I don’t always make things easy for you,” he says. “I know I can be kind of a hardass. But you can tell me if you’re having a hard time. I want you to know that you can talk to me.”

“I’m okay, Papa,” Jack says.

He takes in a deep breath, full and crisp. The woman at the playground is leaving, toddler tucked tightly into the stroller that she pushes down the brick path; she waves at Jack again, giving him a smile before she turns the corner. He raises a hand, watches her go. Then he takes another breath, and he smiles.

It’s been 10 days since the last Falconers’ loss. 42 days since his last drink. 179 days since Eric broke up with him.

“I’m okay,” Jack says. “Really, I’m doing okay.”

This time, he means it.

 

 

 

 

** Notifications **

**All** | Mentions

  

 **Providence Falconers** Retweeted your Tweet  
Thanks to the @ NHLFlyers for a great game last night in Philadelphia!

 

**Eric Bittle** and 16 others followed you 

 

 **Alexei Mashkov** liked 4 of your Tweets  
Merlin the Falcon doesn’t seem so sure about his new friend @ GrittyNHL pic.twitter.com/HjsMQLPyfo

 

 **Gritty** and 55 others liked your Tweet   
Thanks to the @ NHLFlyers for a great game last night in Philadelphia!

 

 

 

 

He sits on the thought for a long time, wondering.

Then, before he can stop himself, he sends the text.

 

 

 

 

“You look busy,” Jack says, standing awkwardly at the door.

“Oh Lord, you have no idea,” Bittle exclaims.

He shuffles through folders and boxes of folders, shifting them through the small room in no pattern at all, until he seems satisfied with arrangement. He stands upright, brushes his hair back, and turns to Jack.

Bittle gestures at the open chair, the only one not stacked with boxes. “Sit down?”

“Uh, sure,” Jack says.

Bittle’s office is small, just a little glass cube in a row of identical glass cubes; but it feels comfortable, like he has already made his home here. The whiteboard above his desk is scribbled with names, dates, and a few handwritten messages from coworkers; the edges are sandwiched with tiny drawings of heart and pies in a fading black marker. There’s a red Samwell pennant on the wall, a blue Emerson pennant just beneath it. Papers and CDs and portfolios are scattered across every surface of the room, but Jack steps inside and finds it not that small after all. It feels just right.

“I guess it’s admissions season,” he says as he sits down.

Bittle collapses into his desk chair with a sigh and lets himself spin back and forth while rubbing his forehead.

“I have two hundred portfolios to review before Christmas,” he says. “Not to mention all the phone calls and interviews and recruitment events…”

He trails off with another sigh and lets his forehead fall against his hand, arm propped up on the chair. He looks at Jack, his face quiet. He’s traded out his Samwell red for navy blue, and his hair looks a little shorter; he seems older, or at least different since the last time Jack saw him.

“But you must be busy too,” Bittle says, sitting upright after a moment of silence “I’ve, um, been watching, you know, on TV.”

“Definitely busy,” Jack says. “But, uh, we’ve started off strong. Looks like it’ll be a good season.”

“Well, that’s good,” Bittle exclaims. “I mean, hockey’s not really big on this campus and I think I’m the only Falcs fan around here anyways, but that’s good for y’all.”

“Good,” Jack echoes. He clears his throat. “I mean, not that. Just, uh, good that you’ve been keeping up with hockey.”

Bittle says nothing else, just smiles. He looks like he belongs here, in this office, this new place, but now a deep silence settles between them, and Jack remembers how long it has been since they have been together, alone, like this. He’s stopped counting days, and somehow that makes the past seem like a distant forever.

There are words sitting on his tongue, so many things he wants to say, so many things he has been thinking about for so long. But he doesn’t know how to start.

Bittle does.

“Jack,” he says. He cocks his head slightly. “When you texted me, I thought… I mean, I didn’t really know what to expect. I’m still not really sure what we’re doing here.”

Jack’s not sure either.

“I, uh,” Jack says. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Bittle watches him.

“I just wanted to say,” he continues, “uh, I know I sent you that email, but I felt like I needed to say it in person. So, I, uh, Bittle- I’m sorry if ever I was…”

He takes a breath.

“I know that there were times I didn’t treat you like I should have,” he says. “Probably more times than I’m thinking of, but I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry for not being a good boyfriend. And I’m sorry for everything that happened between us. I’m just- I’m sorry.”

Bittle looks at him for a moment, quiet; then his gaze flickers away, and he fidgets with his hands in his lap.

“Jack,” he starts. “I- okay, thank you for coming out here and saying that. That means a lot to me. But you know, I wasn’t exactly the world’s greatest boyfriend either.”

“You were-”

Bittle cuts him off. “I let things go because I thought that’s what partners did. But it wore on me over time, and I should have said something earlier, to try and work things out between us. But I didn’t know how to be in a relationship. I mean, for God’s sakes, we were living in such a bubble before we came out, and then when everything happened, I just didn’t know how to deal with it.”

He looks up at Jack.

“Neither of us are blameless for what happened,” he says. “I mean it. I’m not- well, I won’t be that person again, letting someone walk over me like that. But I want you to know, I mean…”

He pauses, pressing his lips together.

For a moment, he’s Bitty again, pink-cheeked and lovestruck.

Then Jack blinks, and they’re sitting in an admissions office at Emerson College, and the winter sunlight is dusting a golden glow across Eric Bittle’s hair.

“I miss you,” Eric says.

Jack smiles.

“Me too,” he says.

“I miss being friends,” Eric says.

“I know,” Jack says.

“I miss some other things too,” Eric says.

Jack swears that he blushes. He thinks he might blush too.

“But, well,” Eric says. “One thing at a time.”

“One thing at a time,” Jack echoes.

Eric smiles; halfway through, it becomes a yawn, and he turns his head, trying to stifle the noise with his hand.

“Can a friend buy a friend a coffee?” Jack asks, unable to contain a grin.

“Sorry,” Eric exclaims, blinking through the yawn. “I swear, napping was the worst habit I developed in college. It’ll be the ruin of my adult life.”

He pops out of his chair. “But yes, a friend can take a friend down to the coffee shop and buy him something full of sugar and caffeine with his multi-million dollar NHL salary.”

He flicks off the lights as they leave his office, and Jack instinctively tugs his baseball cap down to hide his face.

“Oh, honey,” Eric says, glancing up at him. “I don’t think anyone will recognize you here.”

“I forget,” Jack says. “I think my hype has died down anyways.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Eric says as they start down the stairs. “Although it must be nice to go out and not get mobbed, huh?”

“Ha,” Jack says. “I don’t get mobbed.”

“You used to.”

“So did you.”

“Well, things have changed, I guess,” Eric says, leading Jack around the corner towards the cafeteria. “But maybe you should come up here every time you want to have coffee, you know, just as a precaution.”

“Every time I want coffee, eh? Boston’s a little farther than the closest Starbucks.”

“Well,” Eric says.

He bumps into Jack with his hip, then glances up at him and smiles. “Boston’s not that far, is it?”

He’s older, different. But he’s happy.

Jack bumps him back. “No, it’s not far at all.”


End file.
